


From the Void

by RosaleenBan



Series: Risen Angels Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abaddon's the Big Bad she Should have Been, Also lots of plot, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Fix-It, Griffins, Happy Ending, Little bit of angst, M/M, Plot, Season/Series 09, Slow Burn, because the Winchesters function on angst and violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-01-13 15:11:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 87,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1231120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosaleenBan/pseuds/RosaleenBan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It took Gabriel five years to find his way back from the angelic afterlife, and Sam was somehow there to witness the journey.</p><p>Now the archangel's back, and the boys have to deal with Abaddon, Metatron, and figure out the consequences of an archangel breaking every mold ever made.</p><p>Pretty much a rewrite of the second half of season 9, with some major changes in both plot and relationships, continuing on to become its own canon-divergent fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story started as my drabble "Waking Up." If you haven't read it, I suggest avoiding it - it's pretty much a direct spoiler of my plan for an early chapter.
> 
> Continuity note: The prologue through chapter 2 are canon. Or canon-ish. They add to the canon. They take place during the first half of season 9, and are named after their episode titles. Chapter 3 occurs between the mid-season finale and when they started back up again for the second half of the season.
> 
> Starting with chapter 4, this is a mostly canon divergent story. Some things that happened in the second half of season 9 are in there, some are not. Some dialog is lifted directly from the episodes until it's changed wildly. Meaning, there are spoilers, but you probably won't know what they are if you haven't already seen the season.

Gabriel stood on a cliff, looking out over the place he had called home for five very long years. It was nothing but miles of black space littered with shockingly bright nebulae, incubators of Life. Blue-white ghosts glimmered like stars in the air: his brothers and sisters, listless without their missions and schemes. He wouldn’t be able to save all of them, and he wasn’t sure he would if he were able. Mostly, they deserved their fate here.

There was no name for this place, vast as it was.

Most called it the Void: the place between worlds, where souls are created before they’re born, and where angels go where they die.

Gabriel didn’t think that was a fitting name. Maybe it had been when he’d found his way here, but not anymore. Not when more and more angels were arriving every day, and when the cold vacuum was sometimes heated by the impossible light which radiated from God himself. Gabriel hadn’t seen Him again, not since he was young and alive, but he and Raphael alone knew His presence, and they recognized his proximity.

He turned back up the cliff face, not entirely believing what he was seeing. It had taken him years to find this place, the cave where he would hopefully find his way home. There was something inside, something older than the universe itself, something he could not kill but he would have to outsmart. If he won, he would go back to earth, restored and strengthened, with a small army of hand-picked foot soldiers. If he lost, he would die in earnest, his grace devoured, beyond all hope of repair.

Gabriel grinned as he started to climb toward the entrance. This was going to be fun.

 

…

 

He had been preparing for this for a long time. The old ones, angels who had died and come here eons ago, in the war Lucifer waged against Heaven, had told him everything they knew.

The cave was home to Ammut, the soul-eater. The Ancient Egyptians had known her as a chimeric demon, but in truth she was an old breed of dragon, one he thought had died out centuries ago. She and her kind had been Death’s servants before the Reapers were born, and now she guarded the entrance to the angelic afterlife.

Gabriel would need to steal one of her living scales to gather the power he needed to escape the Void. If he failed, she would eat him, grace and soul.

He crept deeper into the darkness of the cave, tampering down the shine of his grace as he did. If he was careful, he would look like an ordinary angel, instead of an archangel who still prospered from the power of his pagan followers. If he was very lucky, she would not see him as a threat.

He slipped into what seemed to be the main cavity of the cave: a vast room carved in obsidian walls, lit only by a faintly glowing mist hovering a few inches above the floor. It was deep and dark enough that he could not see the back, and even the ceiling seemed to stretch up hundreds of feet. It was unadorned, and empty but for the sole inhabitant of the cavern.

She was large: as vast as space itself, it seemed, and certainly the most massive corporeal being he had ever seen. The aura of Death hung about her in the form of a black mist that rose from her scales, her wings, even the soft black flesh around her face. It was her power, and she flaunted it blithely: not out of arrogance, but because she truly didn’t notice the expenditure. Even Gabriel, the archangel demigod, shuddered in her presence.

“Why do you come here, little angel? Why do you disturb me?” her voice boomed around him.  

Oh, well. He hadn’t expected her to overlook him anyway. His whole plan hinged on her thinking he was unimportant, not nonexistent.

“I come only to look, fair dragon,” Gabriel replied, his formal words long rehearsed. It was tempting to slip a hint of sarcasm into the speech, but he knew that would be counterproductive. “The angels of the void talk much of you, and I was told you were a beauty to behold.”

The dragon, being a dragon, preened under the compliment. “And what else were you told of me?”

“That you remember what was here before the universe was born, and that your stories may bring wonder to the weariest of warriors,” Gabriel replied, forcing himself into uncomfortably meek formality. “I wonder if you would allow me to beg for a boon.”

“And what would you ask for, angel?”

“Your stories, my lady,” Gabriel replied. If he had thought it wise to take the form of his vessel, he would have grinned charmingly, but as he was he hoped his voice was enough. “I’m told there are truly none better, in the Void, Heaven or Earth. I wish to hear them for myself.”

The dragon looked at him for several minutes, sizing him up. Gabriel forced himself to tremble beneath it, and concentrated very hard on containing his grace.

Finally, the dragon nodded and said, “Very well. You are the first visitor I have had in an age, and I grow weary of the monotony. I would like very much to retell the stories of the universe’s youth.”

 


	2. Slumber Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Concurrent with the events of "Slumber Party"

Chapter 1

The world slipped out from beneath Sam, leaving him in a confused haze.

 _Zeke? Who’s Zeke?_ He had sworn he heard Dean calling the name just before he ran into his brother’s bedroom in the bunker – or, before he should have been running into it. Instead he found himself in a dim, foggy cave. There was nothing to discern it from any other cave he had ever seen, but something about it seemed – _off._ Unnatural.

He looked around, and saw a ghost. And not the kind he thought could exist on Earth.

He must be dreaming, he decided.

In his experience, that was never a good thing. His days of Lucifer haunting his dreams may be over, but the memories would probably never fade.

And this – well, if nothing else it brought him back to those days. Specifically to the Elysian Fields Hotel.

It wasn’t that he didn’t remember Gabriel, the only archangel who had been on their side for the apocalypse – it was more that he didn’t think about him often these days. Those thoughts were useless, with Gabriel long dead. He had always brushed them away in favor of more pressing matters.

Now, though, he couldn’t look away. He was transfixed on the image of Gabriel – short, energetic Gabriel, every inch the trickster he remembered – as he circled around a sleeping black dragon. There was a light around him: a gold and green aura he never noticed when the archangel was alive.

Gabriel’s muscles tensed suddenly, and he looked over his shoulder. “Winchester?” he asked, his voice soft and confused. “Sam?”

Sam didn’t respond. He found he couldn’t – his mouth wouldn’t move, and his throat was silent.

“What would you be doing here, Sam?” Gabriel wondered aloud. “This isn’t a place for mortals.”

Sam just stared, wondering the same thing himself.

Gabriel leaned in to get a closer look at him, his eyes narrowing in concentration. “You need Grace to get in here, Samsquatch. And you have it – but whose? Not Luci’s.”

Sam shook his head. He couldn’t have anything like Grace. He was still tainted, and certainly hadn’t let any angels use him as a vessel – what was Gabriel talking about?

The dragon huffed in its sleep, regaining Gabriel’s attention.

The archangel smirked. “Might as well stick around for the show.”

Sam watched as Gabe _morphed_ – though into what, Sam couldn’t say. A white cloud of a figure, shot through with lightening threads of gold and verdant green, but that was about all his mind could identify. Trying to pin down anything else just made his eyes look away of their own volition.

Gabriel-the-cloud flowed over the dragon, soft and silent and somehow heavy and powerful at the same time. Sam’s breath caught in his throat as some part of him realized that this was a much truer image of the archangel than the short blond vessel the Winchesters knew. There was something oddly intimate about that: he had never even known this visage of Lucifer or Michael, for all the time he spent with them in the Cage.

Then again, his mind shouldn’t be able to process any of Gabriel’s true form. What was going on?

Gabriel hovered over the dragon for a few minutes, drifting lazily from tail to snout as though he was looking for something specific. Finally he must have found it, because he stopped and fell directly down into the dragon.

Something happened, but Sam couldn’t say what. Gabriel pulled something from the dragon – something rather large, flat and dark – and quickly pulled it into himself. The dragon snorted again, but continued to sleep.

Then Gabriel, still in his amorphous form, floated up to the center of the room and began to glow an unnaturally vibrant midnight blue.

Sam closed his eyes almost immediately, not entirely sure if it would help against the waves of power that were suddenly flooding the room, but certain that watching this particular show was a terrible idea.

He was like a statue in a hurricane: power swept over him from all directions, continuously threatening to throw him across the cave or tear him apart. Yet he couldn’t move, and his feel seemed planted where they were.

He didn’t know how long it went on for, and he kept his eyes closed even after, not sure how safe it could be to open them.

 Eventually, Gabriel noticed and took pity on him. “You can open your eyes now, Jolly Green. It’s safe to look.”

Sam opened his eyes to see things pretty much exactly as they had been when he first came here: the dragon was still taking up most of the space in the cavern, and Gabriel was back in his vessel-form, staring up at him. But now Sam saw a faint blue light around him, blending into the green and gold.

Sam tried to ask, “What did you just do?” But his mouth wouldn’t work, and Gabriel apparently wasn’t reading his thoughts. Instead, he tried to look meaningfully at the dragon.

Gabriel gave a short huff of a laugh. “She should have known better than to let me at her food. She’ll sleep a few more days, but she’ll be fine.”

Sam looked back at Gabriel, trying to convey all his questions with his eyes.

“Now Sammy, is that worry I see? For _me?”_ Gabriel teased, probably deliberately misinterpreting him. “No need for that – I just got exactly what I need to come home. You’ll see me again real soon.”

Sam frowned – or at least, his eyes did. His lips still wouldn’t move.

“You should be worried about yourself though,” Gabriel continued, leaning into Sam and patting his cheek with one hand. “There’s something familiar about that Grace you’ve been rolling around in, and it’s not good. You never were good at choosing friends, though, were you?”

Sam continued to stare, willing Gabriel to keep talking. Maybe he would start to make some sense –

Before he could, Sam’s whole body jolted and his head began to spin. The cave faded from view, and Gabriel went silent.

 

…

 

When Sam opened his eyes, he was in the bunker again. In Dean’s room, head throbbing from apparently being knocked against the old dresser. Charlie was on the bed, looking as dazed as he felt.

“Dean?” Sam asked, relieved that his mouth was working again.

“Sammy?”

He gasped for air. “D – what the Hell just happened?”

“The witch,” Dean explained, standing up and looking down at Charlie. “The witch was about to put the whammy on me, and, uh, Charlie jumped in front. She got zapped. Then the witch got the drop on you.”

Sam stood up, trying to put the pieces together in his head. They still didn’t make sense. “Then why aren’t we dead?”

“That’s a good question,” Dean agreed, his voice rough. “I, ah, I clipped her with a poppy bullet. She got the key. I think she’s gone.”

Something still wasn’t adding up. Dean was hiding something – Sam hadn’t known him almost thirty years without being able to tell the signs. And Gabriel had –

Gabriel would have to wait. Dorothy rushed into the room, a personified reminder of the more immediate danger the wicked witch represented.  “No, she’s wounded. We could still have some time; she could still be in the air ducts.”

Sam grabbed Charlie’s gun when she pointed it out and handed it over to Dean. He took a breath as they left the girls to hunt the witch, forcing himself to focus on the present. As soon as he got one question out of the way.

“Who’s Zeke?”

“What?” Dean asked, leading them down the hall.

“When I came into your room, before I got zapped, I thought I heard you say the name Zeke. Who’s that?”

“Umm…you’re still a little punchy, man,” Dean responded, not even bothering to hide his anxiety at the question. “Let’s just keep moving.”

Sam sighed and stalked ahead of Dean, needing answers but knowing better than to pursue them now.

Fine. Let Dean have his secrets. It’s not like he would be able to tell his brother anything about his dream – vision? Hallucination? – of Gabriel. At least not until this was figured out.


	3. Holy Terror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Concurrent with the events of "Holy Terror," and the last part of this story that will line up with the canon. From here on out, there's no telling where this will go.  
> (Unless you sneak a look at my notes. Which none of you would even if you could, right?)

_Sam walked through the halls of the Elysian Fields Hotel in his dreams. He didn’t know how he knew they were dreams, but he did, just as he thought he knew that his encounter with Gabriel was anything but._

_Everything was the same as he’d last seen it, though the gods were gone and their magic faded. His feet moved automatically, taking him past the front desk, to the rooms he and Dean had visited and finally to the room where they had met Lucifer._

_Sam stopped at the entrance, momentarily paralyzed by the sight of blackened wings on the floor. The burn marks were still crisp against the carpet, with no signs of normal wear or aging._

_In his dream, he closed his eyes, remembering. For a brief moment here, he had found hope in Gabriel: an archangel on their side could have turned the tides, given them a stronger chance to fight the apocalypse. He thought of it rarely, because he couldn’t stand to think that Gabriel’s life could have meant him not having to face the Cage._

_But there had been more to that moment: in those last minutes of his life, they had seen the Gabriel the Archangel, not Loki the Trickster. He had been brave and compassionate in a way that made Sam want to mourn for the loss of him, instead of just what he could have done._

When he opened his eyes, Sam found himself elsewhere. There was no real word for it: a vast space with no walls or ceiling. A pale mist seemed to constitute the floor, but otherwise there was nothing: no plants, no stars or sun or sky. Just _nothing._

A populated nothing though.

Sam looked around and saw dozens of faces, many familiar to him, but just as many not. All the ones he knew belonged to angels – dead angels. Zachariah, Anna, Alfie, Balthazar…And in the center of it all was Gabriel, smirking as he stared down a blustering woman in a gray power suit.

“You can’t be serious, Gabriel,” the woman was saying, her voice cool and condescending. “You abandoned heaven for millennia, and now you expect us to follow you? Surely you understand the need for familiar leadership.”

“Yeah…not interested, Nay,” Gabriel said, not even bothering to elaborate. He turned away from her rudely, catching sight of Sam and holding his gaze for a moment before turning to where Anna and Balthazar stood together.

If any of the other angels saw him, they didn’t show it.

“Eighty,” he told them. “No more than eighty. No one from Heaven’s bureaucracy, and no one pushing for the apocalypse. It’s going to be a new world out there – leave the trash here.”

“Your brother?” Anna asked, her voice uncertain.

Gabriel looked down for a moment, and Sam swore he saw something akin to grief there. When he spoke, his voice was bright and energetic though. “No can do. Archangels are special. If Raph wants out, he’s gonna have to earn it himself.”

“Allies of the Winchesters, then?” she asked.

“Were there any? Besides you and Castiel?” Gabriel countered.

“After the would-be apocalypse there were. It won’t be easy to find them all,” Balthazar said pointedly. “We may require extra resources.”

“Really? Me? You’re trying to con _me_?” Gabriel asked. “Go, get out of here. If they want to come, they can. If not, leave them. They probably wouldn’t be any fun anyway.”

Sam couldn’t help smiling; Gabriel had not changed. Or, was it his memory of Gabriel that was providing fodder for this dream? He couldn’t tell.

He watched as Anna and Balthazar faded away into different directions. Not walking or running, or even floating into the distance; instead they just kind of _slid_ slowly out of existence in opposing directions.

 Gabriel wandered between the angels for a few minutes: stopping to talk to some, dismissing others, and pointedly ignoring a few, such as Zachariah and the woman he had been talking to before. Finally, he looked at Sam again, then started to move away from the crowd.

Sam found himself following, floating along behind the archangel. Once again, he noted, he wasn’t able to move more than his eyes.

“You keep showing up here, kiddo. Dangerous habit,” Gabriel said eventually.

Sam couldn’t tell him it wasn’t his fault, so instead he looked at him with what he hoped was a meaningful expression.

“Of course it _would_ be you my mind sends to torture me with through this,” Gabriel continued, his voice low and rough. “I guess I tortured you enough with your brother – now you get a front row seat to me abandoning mine. Again.”

Gabriel gave out a rough laugh. “Honestly, I thought he would have gone first – he was the warrior. He should have had no problem with the dragon. Trickster wins again.

“It always seems to mean breaking up the family, though.”

Sam wondered at the sadness in his voice. It occurred to him that this really wasn’t the Trickster he had known. Something had changed, or his mind was projecting onto Gabriel. Hadn’t he stayed awake in his bed for hours the past few months, wondering how exactly he could have left Dean at the end of the trials – and how he should have been able to? How everything would have been so much better if he had just been able to close Hell?

He wished he could have asked Gabriel for clarification. Asked what he meant, and what was going to happen next. Ask if this was real, and why he was here. There were too many questions.

And Gabriel couldn’t hear any of them.

“That’s history, though, isn’t it? Always playing on repeat,” Gabriel continued. “Won’t matter soon, though, Samsquatch. Everything’s changing, which is pretty much a constant for you two, isn’t it? You’ll see me soon – you and whoever you’re borrowing Grace from.”

Gabriel turned away, looking back at the group of angels still loitering where he had left them. Somewhere beyond them, light was starting to stream through the nothingness, crystalizing the air into tiny rainbows and warming them. Sam tried to move closer, to get a better look, but he was still frozen in place.

And then everything faded, leaving him alone in an ominous darkness.

 

…

 

Sam came back to himself feeling cold and unsettled, depression and fear suddenly threatening to overtake him for no reason he could remember. He took a few deep breaths, trying to push it away, but it clung to him doggedly.

He was a hunter, though, so he pressed through it looked around, taking in his surroundings despite the melancholy.

He was in the Impala, parked under an overpass – the kind of spot hunters chose to meet all the time. If he remembered this one correctly, he was only a few miles away from the bunker. The beer he had bought before he blacked out was still sitting next to him, still cold when he moved his hand over to feel it. But he didn’t remember turning off the highway or parking here.

Angels. Something about angels.

He would talk to Kevin when he got back, he decided, starting up the Impala. If he was very, very lucky, something on that tablet would explain what had been going on with him: these blank spots in his memory, maybe even these dreams of Gabriel, wherever the Hell he was.

Sam pulled out of and onto the road, gritting his teeth. He had a very bad feeling about all of this.


	4. Waking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This whole fic was inspired by my drabble "Waking Up," and anyone who read that already will recognize it here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the long wait. For some reason my professors don't understand that I have fic to write, and they keep assigning research papers. (See the endnote for info on my next update.)

Gabriel hadn’t expected pain.

He knew the power he had stolen was vast, and feral at best, but he had assumed he could control it. After all, hadn’t he successfully fed the pagan power of the Trickster into his Grace centuries ago?

He had thought the dragon scale was a part of him from when he stole it. He hadn’t understood then, the magic wasn’t meant for angels, and it would tear him apart given the chance.

It looked like he was giving it one now.

He grit his teeth, a habit formed from having a vessel for centuries, and braced his power. Seventy-four angels were slipping through the gate from the void to Earth, their last vessels reconstituting around them, and his power was the only thing allowing them their journey. He may not survive this, but he swore every damn one of them would.

He fed more power into the gate, trying to stabilize it with his Trickster and Archangelic magic. Even as his familiar green and gold started glowing around the blue-black doorway, he knew it was futile. The angels were almost all across, but his Grace was failing. He wouldn’t meet them on the other side.

“Brother,” Raphael’s cool voice found him, steadying him.

“Kinda busy here, bro,” he hissed, fighting against the pain for each word. He glanced back and saw Raphael standing behind him, one hand reaching out.

“Please –”

“Don’t have the power,” Gabriel told him. Again. They had gone over this, he had already told Raphael everything he could.

“Let me,” the other archangel continued. Raphael touched Gabriel, and clean golden Grace began to flow through him, steadying him and healing him. “The angels are through. Go. Now. Lead them well.”

Gabriel looked back again at his brother, shocked by the gesture. Raphael would be find without the Grace of course – he would heal quickly, and he didn’t use the power much here anyway. But still, Gabriel hadn’t expected anything from his brother. Why was he helping him now?

“Go,” Raphael repeated, pushing him through the gate.

“Thanks, bro. Good luck,” Gabriel said quickly, using the last of his magic to carry the words back through to Raphael before the gate closed.

 

…

 

Wisconsin. They washed up on a farm in Wisconsin, seventy-five angels in newly-reconstituted vessels. Gabriel knew he only made it there with them because of his brother’s help.

“Well, that was unpleasant,” Balthazar said, lounging in the grass a suit ridiculously out of place for the surroundings.

Gabriel ignored him and closed his eyes, stretching out fingers and toes to feel the solid ground beneath him. It fed him raw green power: a gift from his pagan followers. He had rarely tapped into it before, but he was grateful for it now.

“Gabriel, what’s next?” Anael asked. He opened his eyes to see her sitting nearby, soothing the hair of a wispy angel beside her. Samandriel, if Gabriel remembered correctly. He hadn’t even been born when Gabe had left Heaven.

 “Relax,” he said, conjuring up a cheeky grin. “Enjoy yourselves, remember what it means to be alive.” He reached out with his grace, looking for the Winchesters. Tricky with those sigils on their bones, but not impossible. Especially since he had covertly put his own tracking sigils on them in another life.

“Do you really think that’s wise?” Balthazar asked. “I’m all for the finer things on Earth, but what happens when someone figures out that we’re back? Should we just announce our presence like that?”

There. He found it. That little spark that flared at his touch. _Sam._ Sam and that other angel. The irritatingly unfamiliar one.

“You’re right, Balthy,” Gabriel said, popping up to his feet. “Stay low. Stay close. I’ll be back soon.”

He lifted his fingers, surprised by the nostalgic familiarity of the gesture, and snapped.

 

…

 

Sam struggled awake, fighting to pull himself out of the thick haze of dreams.

There was something important in them, something he should remember. Something about angels.

He pushed off the covers, exposing himself to the harsh cold around him. Nothing like the uniform warmth of the bunker – where was he? He didn’t remember going out on a case with Dean.

The ugly walls of an unfamiliar motel room stared back at him, mocking his faulty memory.

Where was he? And what was that dream?

He closed his eyes.

Two figures: angels by the look of their swords. One much taller than the other, neither face visible, but both ready to fight.

Had that been his dream? Or was it real? It had a certain immediacy to it, making him feel like it was happening right now. He closed his eyes again.

The smaller of the angels had Gabriel’s voice: “Get him out of you, Samsquatch! Revoke access, cancel his subscription, just get him out!”

“Gabriel?” Sam muttered. Right. The dreams. Or visions? The cave, and wherever else he had been. What had Gabriel said there?

“Sam! Tell Gadreel to get lost! NOW!” Gabriel’s voice rang through his head.

Gadreel. Sam remembered – the angel who Dean had let in to heal him.

“Gadreel, you don’t have the right to be here!” Sam said aloud, though he wasn’t sure it was strictly necessary.

“You’ll die without me, Sam,” a voice murmured in his mind. Gadreel. “I’ve kept you together this long, but you’re still not healed. I can make you better and then find a new host, but you need time.”

“Then I’ll take care of the big friendly giant,” Gabriel responded in his head before Sam could.

That was really all Sam needed to hear. He was probably crazy. This was probably just a dream – but how else would he have taken control back from the angel if Gabriel wasn’t real?

 “Get out, Gadreel. Now!”

Nothing could describe the feel of Grace as it rushed out of him, flung from his body and into the ether.

Nor could he put into words the flow of pain that came over him just as fast, as pieces of him began to shut down. It started with a sharp stab in his lower back – his kidneys, he thought – and moved outwards. His joints, his muscles, his stomach and lungs – all of them shuddered and faltered.

He felt it as his heart gave way to its last desperate beat. His whole chest constricted around it, and he gasped in futilely against the pain.

The last thing he heard, just before he blacked out, were fingers snapping.


	5. Homecoming

“Dean!”

Castiel’s urgent calls to his brother were the first thing Sam became aware of as he woke.

“Dean, out here. It’s Sam!”

Sleep clung to him, making it difficult to open his eyes. He could feel wet grass beneath him, over dirt and hard stones. One was digging into his kidney painfully, but not nearly as painfully as he remembered before.

“Sammy?” Dean asked. Sam heard the rustle of boots running on gravel, then the swish of jeans against tall grass. “You sure?”

“Definitely me,” Sam groaned, squinting his eyes open and stretching his arms. Everything felt stiff.

“I can’t detect an angel in him,” Castiel confirmed.

Dean kneeled down and checked Sam’s pulse, then pushed Sam’s jacket out of the way as if to inspect him. “How’re you feeling, Sammy?”

“Sore,” Sam complained. “But good.”

“He’s healed?” Dean asked, looking up at Cas.

“There’s nothing wrong with him physically,” Castiel said. “I don’t know how that could have happened.”

Sam closed his eyes again. “Can we figure it out after I sleep? In a bed?” he asked, fending off questions before they came.

Dean looked at him for a few seconds before sighing. “Yeah. Come on, let’s get you inside.” He helped Sam to his feet, though Sam was glad to find that he could stand and walk, though he had to lean heavily on his brother and Cas. Not for long, not until he got some sleep, but well enough for now.

He wasn’t that surprised to find that he had been left just outside the bunker entrance. Who knew how Gabriel had known to leave him there, but for once he was grateful for the archangel’s uncanny abilities.

Or, who or whatever it had been. He still couldn’t quite wrap his head around the idea of Gabriel being there. Alive.

 

…

 

When Sam woke again, he found himself in his Spartan bedroom in the bunker. The bare walls were familiar, but not welcoming. He had a feeling Gabriel wouldn’t approve – and then wondered why that would be the first thought to pop into his head. He turned over, blocking out the view and closing his eyes.

“Sam?” Dean asked from somewhere just behind him. He heard the rustle of paper against paper and turned, seeing his brother beside his bed slipping a bookmark into a novel and putting it down. _ V for Vendetta. Because that’s what Dean Winchester needed to be reading_, Sam mused. Dean had pulled up a desk chair, and had the disheveled look of someone who had slept in it. Sam winced sympathetically for his brother’s back before moving again and sharply remembering his own pain.

“I’m up,” he admitted.

“Still you?”

“Yeah,” Sam told him. His mind felt different – clearer, and _roomier_ than it had since before the Trials, in a way he couldn’t quite describe. How had he not noticed the distinct feeling of sharing his body with an angel? Gadreel was much more subtle than Lucifer, but still, the difference was profound.

“Good,” Dean said. “What happened?”

Sam closed his eyes. Gabriel’s voice still seared through his mind, telling him to expel Gadreel; that he would take care of Sam instead. What would Dean have to say about it? About _Gabriel?_

And was it even real anyway?

“I don’t know,” Sam lied smoothly, the same lie he had told Dean a hundred times or more. It felt a little like a punch in the gut to do it again, but that didn’t stop him from continuing. “I don’t remember.”

“Really? Nothing?” Dean pressed.

“I remember the angel – Gadreel,” Sam told him. “Flashes of things – but nothing concrete.”

“Not even how he left? Or why?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. “I kicked him out, I think. But I don’t remember anything else.” He changed the subject before Dean could pry further. “Where’s Cas?” he asked. “And Kevin?” He still needed Kevin to take a look at the Angel Tablet for him, see if he couldn’t figure out how Gabriel could possibly be back.

“Cas is upstairs researching. He got his mojo back.” Dean paused and ran a hand through his short hair. “Kevin – Kevin was killed. While you were gone.”

Images flashed through Sam’s mind: _Kevin, talking to him about Dean in the bunker, suddenly looking worried._

_Sam putting his own hand on Kevin’s head, burning him out with angelic powers_.

_The note left on him. Two words: **Kevin Tran.**_

“I killed him,” Sam said flatly, lowering his eyes.

“No, you didn’t,” Dean told him firmly. “The angel– Gadreel – _he_ killed Kevin. Not you.”

“I –”

“No,” Dean interrupted. “This is my fault, Sammy. _I_ messed up.” His voice lowered, the energy of his conviction drained. “I got you to invite him in.”

“You what?” Sam asked. He hadn’t known how Gadreel had taken control of him – he didn’t remember giving permission. “How?”

“You were dying,” Dean explained brokenly. “The Trials – the last one was killing you. Almost did kill you, even after we stopped – I took you to the hospital, but there was nothing they could do. I prayed. This angel came, and claimed to be Ezekiel, who Cas trusted. He said he could fix you.”

“So you tricked me?” Sam asked, feeling his cheeks warm with indignation. “ _That_ was Zeke?

“I did what I had to do,” Dean countered.

“No,” Sam said. “No, you didn’t. You did what you wanted.” He ran a hand through his long hair in frustration. “You did what was best for you. You stopped the Trials – the _Trials_ , Dean, our one way to close the Gate to Hell. A way for me to make up for letting Lucifer out of his cage. Because you didn’t want me to die.”

“And you did?” Dean snapped.

“No,” Sam confessed, his voice softer. “But I would have preferred it to failing.”

Dean stood up and turned away from Sam, hand on his hips. “Well I’m sorry I wanted my _brother_ to live, then,” he said sarcastically.

Sam frowned, eyebrows furrowing. “That’s not fair, Dean.” He tried to sit up, but he still didn’t have the energy for it, so he fell back onto the pillow with a disgruntled _plop._

Dean turned and looked at Sam, then sighed. “Look, this can wait,” Dean told him, grabbing a glass of water from Sam’s nightstand and forcing him to take it. “You need some water, maybe some food if you’re up for it. You need to rest.” He took out his phone and keyed in a quick message. “Cas is bringing down stuff for sandwiches. At least losing his Grace taught him a thing or two about food.”

“There’s no time to rest, Dean,” Sam argued, tacitly agreeing to at least table the fight. But they would come back to it later, when he had more strength. “Gadreel took the Angel Tablet. Metatron still has Heaven on lockdown. The angels are taking over Earth with their in-fighting. Abaddon’s out there still. We have to figure out what to do with Crowley.  We have a mess on our hands.”

“Crowley’s not a problem: he rots here until we need him or we kill him,” Dean said, sitting down again.

“Okay, then just Metatron and Abaddon. And an angelic feud with no Tablet or prophet. No big deal,” Sam deadpanned before sipping at his water. And wow, how had he not realized how parched he was before?

“Sure! Any idea where to start working on any of those? Because I’m clean out of leads,” Dean told him.

Sam frowned. “There was a bar,” he said, trying to focus on the wisp of memory. “Gadreel was meeting someone there. I think he was using it as a kind of base on Earth.” He sighed. “I don’t remember exactly where, though.”

“Perfect,” Dean said.

“And something else – Utah?” Sam said, still unsure. Memories were flashing on the edge of his consciousness, out of context or time. “Some important angel business. With Metatron?”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? I thought he wanted to be left in Heaven alone.”

Sam shook his head, ignoring the strands of hair that fell into his eyes. “No, I think he’s bringing some back. That’s why Gadreel was with him. He’s bringing them back to Heaven, with him as their leader.”

There was a knock at the door, and Dean opened it to let Castiel in.

“Sam,” Cas said when he saw him. “How are you feeling?”

“Like my body’s my own,” Sam told him with a weak smile.

“Good. I’m glad,” Cas said, putting a large tray down at the foot of Sam’s bed, finding it was the only surface large enough to accommodate it. Dean immediately went to work stacking the meats and fixings onto two large sandwiches. Just watching him, Sam realized he was starving.

“Anything you can do to get me up and working again?” Sam asked.

Cas looked hard at him, head tilted to the side inquisitively. The gesture was familiar on the angel, but somehow different: more relaxed, as though he had grown more accustomed to his human vessel. “I’m sorry Sam, but I can’t. You’re recovering from major angelic healing; time will help you more than Grace.”

“Worth a shot,” Sam said with a quick smile.

“He’ll be ok though?” Dean asked Cas again.

Cas sighed and Sam could swear he rolled his eyes. “With a few days to recover, Sam will be fine.”

Dean nodded. “Alright. Looks like I’m heading to Utah, then. You two stay here.”

“What?” Sam asked indignantly as Cas let out a firm, “No!”

“Sam, you can barely get out of bed right now. What good are you going to be on a hunt?” Dean asked. “And Cas, I need you to watch over him until he’s better.”

“Perhaps you should stay, since my powers have mostly been restored,” Castiel suggested.

“No,” Dean said, his voice rough. “No, I need to go. I’m no good here.”

He sat down again, leaning in to talk directly to Sam. “Listen, maybe you’re right. I screwed up, I can’t separate my emotions from the job. I make a choices based on knowledge on hand, and usually they’re wrong. And because of that, I got Kevin killed. I’m not going to stick around where I can do the same to one of you.”

“Dean, that’s not true,” Sam said, putting his sandwich down. That wasn’t what this was about. Dean didn’t always see the big picture – he was downright short sighted sometimes – but he was Sam’s brother. Sam didn’t want him to leave like this.

“At the very least, I need some time to clear my head,” Dean said. “When I come back, we’ll figure it out.” They could both hear the lie in his voice, but Sam didn’t acknowledge it.

“You don’t even know where you’re going!” Sam argued instead.

“Like you said, Utah. I’ll figure it out from there. Don’t we always?”

“That’s a big state, Dean.”

“A lot of nothing. I head to the populated areas, I should be fine,” Dean argued like a mad man.

“Dean –”

“No, Sammy,” Dean interrupted, a hard edge to his voice. “I’m going.”

Sam sighed in defeat. There was no arguing with Dean in this mood, and he really didn’t have the energy to try. “We’ll call you if we find anything out, or if I remember something.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, giving him a curt nod.                                                           

Sam looked up a Castiel, surprised to see a stricken look flash across the angel’s face before a serene mask dropped onto it. “I’ll take care of Sam,” he promised.

“Good,” Dean said roughly. “I’m going to go pack up. I’ll be out of here first thing tomorrow.”


	6. Strange Discoveries

Dean didn’t come back to Sam’s room to say goodbye that night or the next morning.

In fact, aside from Cas coming in to dutifully check in on him every few hours, Sam found himself alone in his room for most of the day. He had asked Cas for some reading material from the Men of Letters’ journals to keep him occupied, but he hadn’t found anything new on angels or demons – if anything, it seemed like the Winchesters knew more about both subjects than their grandfather’s line had.

Instead, he found himself spending most of his day thinking of his encounters – hallucinations? Dreams? – with Gabriel. What would it mean for them if the Trickster was actually back? What would it mean for him?

With so much time on his hands, he couldn’t help thinking back to the night before they found themselves in Elysian Fields Hotel. The night before Gabriel died.

Sam had dreamt of Gabriel then, too. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but it had put him on edge, even more than he was used to those days. It had made him suggest to Dean that they leave the hotel almost as soon as they got there. He wished they had.

There had been an apology in one – just before Gabriel faced his brother. Something he was sure the Trickster was unused to – something so surprising Sam had pushed it out of mind, convinced it was a just a dream, even though they had been living in a world where there were no ‘justs’ or even dreams. Everything had meaning back then.

Gabriel had come to him deliberately, Sam suspected now. He had visited Sam’s dreams and apologized for everything. Told Sam to be strong and trust his instincts. That he trusted him, and that he had chosen the Winchester’s side in all this, and they had better not let him down.

Sam wished he could remember all of Gabriel’s words, or the conviction he half-remembered watching in his eyes.  Part of Sam still didn’t even know if it had been real, or just a dream.

It had made his death hurt that much worse in the end. It had felt like losing a friend, though they had only just become allies.

He thought about doing more research. He wanted to ask Cas about what he privately called the Trickster archive – the whole cabinet of files kept specifically on Trickster activity – but he was pretty sure that Castiel would find the request suspicious. He hadn’t decided whether or not to talk to the angel about Gabriel’s possible return, or how to broach the subject with him. Once he told Cas, there would be no hiding it from Dean. But he wasn’t sure he could keep it to himself either.

Finally, sometime in late afternoon, he couldn’t stand being left alone with his thoughts any longer.  Despite his sore muscles and persistent fatigue, he hauled himself out of bed and found some clothes. Flannel pants and a tee-shirt would do; Cas wouldn’t care, and he honestly couldn’t bring himself to put on jeans.

He made his way up to the main floor without too much trouble, but found himself exhausted by the time he got to the study area. He dropped into the first chair he came to, desperately hoping to regain his strength soon.

Fortunately, Cas was already there, seated at a table not far away. He looked up at Sam as soon as he heard him, then stood and walked over. “Sam. I thought you were resting. Is there anything you need?”

“No, thanks, Cas,” Sam said, trying to relax into the hard wooden chair. “Just some company.”

Castiel nodded. “I was actually going to come down to you soon. I think I found something to help Dean.”

Sam raised his eyebrows questioningly, motioning for Castiel to go on.

“Angels use their Grace to hold them in vessels, forming a kind of bond,” Castiel explained, almost nervously. “Nothing like the one Dean and I –” he paused, his voice wavering on the words before he bit his bottom lip, then continued. “It’s not a strong bond, but when they leave those vessels, they inevitably leave some Grace behind.”

Sam nodded, ignoring the part about his brother, as it had made Cas so uncomfortable. “So you’re saying I have some of Gadreel’s Grace in me? And Lucifer’s?”

“Only Gadreel’s,” Castiel told him. “I took on Lucifer’s when –” his voice trailed off.

“When you took my memories of the Cage,” Sam supplied.

Castiel nodded solemnly. “You should have some of Gadreel’s Grace still in you though.”

“So what does that mean?” Sam asked.

“I’ve found a spell that extracts Grace from former vessels. It can be used to track the angel it belongs to,” Cas explained. “However, it’s not a pleasant process. I understand it’s quite painful.”

“But it will let us find Gadreel?” Sam asked.

“In theory,” Castiel said.

“Then we’re doing it. What do we need?” Sam pressed his lips together. Painful or not, he was glad to find something useful to do. Especially with Dean out there alone.

“Not much. The spell mostly requires sigils and chants. Everything else, we already have,” Cas told him.

“Good. Let’s get to it,” Sam said, eager to get to work.

Castiel shook his head. “Not until you have your strength back.”

“I’m fine,” Sam insisted.

“You’re not,” Cas told him. “Dean asked me to take care of you until you’re better. From what I understand, that does not include practicing experimental spells on you. We’ll wait another day or two.”

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but saw the resolve in the angel’s eyes. He had no doubt Cas would march him back to his bunker and lock him in there with his angel powers if Sam fought too hard. “Alright, tomorrow,” he said. “But we can’t wait any longer than that. Dean needs help out there.”

Castiel nodded. “We’ll keep looking for something else,” he reassured Sam.

“I’m going to call Dean. Let him know we have something in the pipeline.” He gave Cas a sheepish smile. “I’m – uh – still not up to too much walking. Would you mind heating up some of that soup in the kitchen? The canned stuff in the cabinet by the fridge. And maybe getting me some water, too?”

“Of course,” Cas nodded before turning toward the kitchen.

Sam watched him go with a word of thanks. He was often amazed by the angel, but now more than ever; he would have never pegged Cas as a nursemaid, and yet he had no problem taking care of Sam when he needed it.

Then again, the original request had come from Dean. He wondered if that didn’t have anything to do with Castiel’s willingness to perform such mundane tasks for him.

Sam smiled to himself and took out his phone to call Dean.

No answer on the first number, or the second. Or third. Sam sighed and finally left a message on the last phone he tried. “Hey Dean, it’s me. We might have a lead. Cas found a spell or something – we’re going to try it tomorrow. We’ll have more info then.”

He paused for a moment, wanting to say more. Even to tack on an admonition to stay safe – something to let his brother know that, although he was justifiably furious with him, he didn’t want him out there alone.

Instead, he hit ‘End,’ and put the phone down just as Cas came back in, hands full of Sam’s dinner. Sam was surprised to see he carried two bowls of soup along with a glass of water and a couple of spoons on a tray.

“You eat now?” Sam asked.

“I ate often when I was human,” Castiel told him, sitting across from him at the table. “I enjoyed soup – not as much as peanut butter, particularly with grape jelly – but quite a bit.”

Sam watched as he slowly ate a spoonful of soup, then looked up with an intrigued expression, brows furrowed.

“How about now? Still like it?” Sam asked.

“Tastes like….molecules,” Cas told him.

“Molecules?”

“I can taste each one,” Castiel explained. “They do not taste like soup as I remember it.”

“Forest for the trees?” Sam asked.

Cas frowned at him. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“It’s an expression – you can’t see the forest for the trees,” Sam explained. “You can’t taste the whole because all the parts get in the way.”

Cas gave a small nod. “It’s overwhelming.” He looked up at Sam ruefully. “It’s disgusting.”

Sam made a sympathetic sound before he tasted his own soup, which was good for the canned variety, but nothing special. Overly salty, if anything.

Gabriel had loved food – had reveled in it, gluttonously. Sam wondered for a moment if it was because angels had sweet teeth, or because Gabriel had been among humans so long he learned to experience things the way they did.

“When Dean gets back, you’ll have to try pie,” he mused. “Maybe you’ll have better luck with sweets.”

Cas gave him a perplexed stare, then nodded. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to try.”

 

…

 

Dammit. Dean wondered, not for the first time, why he let himself be so reckless when it came to on-the-fly decisions. He was in Utah – huge, 35-person-per-square-mile _Utah_ – looking for an angel in an unknown vessel. Perfect.

He had pulled into a Budget Inn in Green River just before eight, wondering where the hell he was going to go next. After a quick dinner at the nearby burger joint, he was back in the bleak mustard-colored room, looking through local papers online. Of course none of them said anything about angels or demons or weird murders. The city population couldn’t possibly top a thousand residents; something like that would have been on everyone’s tongues long before Dean found a paper here.

He methodically began expanding his search, first to the whole state of Utah, then the surrounding areas. The entire state was strangely normal, which made him particularly suspicious, but didn’t exactly give him any immediate leads.

He let himself be distracted, briefly, by thoughts of Sam and Cas back at the bunker. Was Sammy better? Would he fully recover without an angel to prop him up? How many times would Cas let Dean abandon him before he stopped coming back?

Another beer in, and his head was fuzzy enough to push the thoughts away and concentrate on the job at hand.

The six-pack he had bought on his way back from dinner was slowly dwindling to just a bottle or two left by the time he found an actionable lead. Just outside Flagstaff, Arizona, there had been a triple homicide, found by police that morning. The victims had been flayed alive –possibly demonic, or maybe something new. Something he could check out.

Tomorrow. It would be another six hours of driving with nothing to do but listen to Led Zeppelin and think before he got there.

He absentmindedly checked his phones before turning in, seeing that only Sam had called. Every single one. Of course. The message was vague, but enough to tell him his brother and angel weren’t in any danger, and he could wait until tomorrow to call them back.

He slipped into the bed, considering for a brief moment taking advantage of the Magic Fingers while Sam wasn’t around, but decided he wasn’t in the mood. Instead he just shut his eyes and tried to get some sleep, maybe this time without being haunted by images of Kevin burnt out by Grace.

He was, of course, unsuccessful.

 

…

 

“Are you sure you’re able to do this?” Castiel asked for the third time.

Sam was sitting in a medical room in the bunker, on an old blue leather examination chair. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up as he prepared for Cas to extract Gadreel’s Grace. Castiel was gingerly walking around the sigils he had written on the floor as he prepared the special syringe.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. He had woke this morning with much more energy – not enough to go for a run, but more than enough to endure one uncomfortable ritual. “Let’s get this over with.”

Cas nodded. “Alright. This will hurt.”

Sam held out his arm in invitation, and Cas shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” he said, touching a spot just behind Sam’s right ear.

Sam nodded. “It’s ok. Do it.”

Castiel set his jaw and aligned the syringe, then plunged the needle into his neck

He wasn’t lying. This hurt more than any needle had any right to – certainly more than any syringe he had experienced. He hissed through it, bracing himself for more.

“Now comes the part that will actually hurt. I’m going to begin the extraction,” Castiel warned. After a moment, Sam could feel it _pulling_ on his very soul. It was as though Castiel was trying to separate his soul from his flesh, and trap it in the vials of the syringe.

Sam set his jaw and braced himself for more.

Cas pulled harder, and an agonized groan escaped from Sam as a tremor of pain rushed through him. His heart stuttered – literally stuttered, almost stopping completely in his chest as his soul clung to it. Sam pressed his lips together, fending off another groan.

“That’s enough,” Cas said, pulling out the empty syringe and discarding it on the table before Sam could protest.

“It’s ok,” Sam told him. “I could take it. Try again.”

Castiel gave him an appraising stare, and Sam suddenly felt like a very small child caught in a lie.  “I’ve no doubt you could,” Cas said dryly, “But it would have done us no good. I could feel no Grace there to find.”

 “Are you sure?” he asked, just in case.

“I can’t be completely sure,” Castiel admitted. “It’s difficult enough to sense under the best of circumstances, but I’m – ” he faltered, then, “still not fully recovered.”

Sam blinked. That was news to him. Still.

“Try again,” he demanded.

Cas frowned, but nodded. “Really, Sam?”

“Yeah. Do it.”

Cas picked up the syringe and inserted it again. If anything, the pain was worse this time.

Sam gripped the arms of the chair tightly, preparing to fight to hold onto his soul as Cas began to pull the plunger back.

It was like when Gadreel left him, or the end of the Trials – he could feel his heart beating sporadically, his other organs slowing down as his heart held on. His fingers and toes went numb first, and a sort of paralysis drifted up his body as his nervous system gave up on them to divert energy to more important tasks.

All of it was almost background noise, a torture he felt removed from compared to the pain of his soul being grabbed onto and fought for by the syringe.

Again, Castiel stopped and extracted the needle.

“Try again,” Sam hissed.

Castiel frowned. “No.” He put a finger to Sam’s forehead, and a rush of Grace flowed through him, restoring him.

“We have to find Gadreel, Cas,” Sam reminded him.

“I said, no, Sam,” Castiel said firmly.

Sam gave him a small smile. “It’s important. He’s working with Metatron – he killed Kevin. We need to get him, to fix things.”

Castiel sighed, picking up the box for the syringe to put it away. “Sam, when I was human, I died, and that showed me that life is precious, and it must be protected at all costs, even a life as... as pig-headed as a Winchester's.”

Sam shook his head. “My life's not worth any more than anyone else's – not yours or Dean's...or Kevin's. Please. Please, help me do one thing right.”

Castiel shook his head. “Why must you Winchesters always be the ones to sacrifice?” he asked somberly. He looked Sam in the eyes, jaw set. “There’s nothing there. And without Grace to extract, the spell was killing you. We’re not trying again.”

Of course Gabriel would have taken care of any remnants of Gadreel’s Grace when he healed him, Sam realized, perversely annoyed. The archangel was likely trying to help, but he just made things harder. Kinda the story of Gabriel’s life, Sam realized.

Castiel gave Sam another leveling look. “What happened when Gadreel left you, Sam?” he asked, his tone careful and curious.

Sam sighed and dropped his head, busying his hands by rolling his sleeves back down. “It’s – complicated,” Sam confessed. “A long story. Dean doesn’t even know.”

Cas tilted his head. “I’ve spent a long time with you and your brother – at least by human standards. I feel I know you well, and I’ve learned that when it comes to you, Dean is often the last to know.”

Sam gave out a mirthless huff of a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said.

“So what are you keeping from your brother this time? I can’t think of many things strong enough to erase all traces of Grace from a soul, aside from another angel.”

“Archangel,” Sam corrected with a small grin, still looking down. “Gabriel.”

“Gabriel?” Cas asked, voice suddenly sharp. “But Gabriel is dead.”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t actually know if it was him, or just my mind playing tricks on me,” he confessed. “He – well, he appeared to me. A few times, when Gadreel was there but before he really took over. I think it was whenever Gadreel came out, before he let me have control again.  I don’t know what it was – if it was a dream, or hallucination, or really happening.”

Cas nodded, encouraging him to go on.

“First he was in this weird kinda cave place, with a dragon. And then somewhere else – I can’t even describe it,” he shook his head, trying to articulate the _nothingness_ of the place where he had seen Gabriel gathering the other dead angels. “Just miles of foggy gray. There were other angels there – Balthazar and Anna. But lots of them. He was arguing with some: Zachariah and a woman he called ‘Nay.’”

“Naomi?” Castiel asked. He pursed his lips. “Short brown hair, pinched face probably in a business suit and looking strict?”

“Yeah, that’s her!” Sam exclaimed.

Castiel grimaced. “What was he doing with them?”

“Gathering them, I think,” Sam said. “Not Naomi or Zack – he was telling them they couldn’t come. The next time I saw him, Gadreel was in control. Gabriel woke me up, told me he’d heal me if I got Gadreel to leave. Then I woke up outside the bunker.” Sam put his hands out in defeat. “That’s all I remember. I don’t even know if it was real, or just my subconscious reacting to an angel.”

Castiel frowned. “I can understand why you were hesitant to tell Dean,” he admitted.

Sam nodded. “Do you think it’s possible? That some of the angels are back?”

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t know. We have always been told that, unlike humans, when we die, it is our end. Our Grace dissipates and our consciousness fades. But we’ve been lied to before, or left uninformed.”

Sam nodded. He had thought the same thing himself. Without access to the Angel Tablet, there was no knowing what actually happened to angels when they died.

“However, knowing Gabriel, I find it unlikely that he would have helped you like that,” Castiel continued. “It seems out of character for any of my elder brothers.”

“I think Gabriel prided himself on breaking the mold,” Sam said. “Remember the Elysian Fields Hotel?”

Castiel thought about it for a minute before shaking his head. “I’d like to think you’re right about that, but I can’t believe it. Though the lack of Grace in you does support the theory.”

Sam nodded again and changed the subject. “Well, can we try it again? Maybe you missed something?”

“I didn’t miss it,” the angel told him. “There’s no Grace to gather.”

“What do we do next then?”

Castiel sighed. “Research,” he said simply. “I’ll call Dean to update him.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam said, standing up. He was relieved not to have to speak to his brother. “Tell him to come back soon.”

“I will,” Cas promised. “And Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“I think you should tell Dean about this. He would appreciate it.”

“He’ll flip out about it, you mean,” Sam pointed out.

Cas tilted his head and gave Sam a small smile. “Yes. But he’ll get over it.”

 _Before or after he tries to hunt him?_ Sam wondered silently. Cas was right though, and he told him as much. “Okay. When he gets back though. Not over the phone.”

Castiel nodded his agreement.

Sam tilted his head, looking at the angel for a moment. Castiel had changed so much during his second brush with humanity – Sam was surprised by the empathy he had developed, the dry humor and humility that had always teetered on the edge of the angel’s personality, but which had now flourished.  On a whim, he leaned in and enveloped Cas in a hug.

Castiel stood there, awkward and stiff.

Sam bit back a chuckle. “Now’s the part where you hug back.”

“Oh, right. Uh, sorry,” Cas said, putting his arms around Sam.

“There you go,” Sam said. After a moment he pulled back, and gave the angel a small smile. “Thanks,” he said simply, hoping the angel knew what he meant – Sam was grateful for Cas trying to help him gather Gadreel’s Grace, and listening to him about Gabriel, but also simply for their friendship, and the fact that he knew that he could talk to him without worrying the angel would break his confidence to Dean.

Slightly embarrassed by his emotional display, he gave Cas a sheepish look and walked out of the examination room and toward the Men of Letters’ giant file rooms. He wanted to check out the Trickster archive – not that he thought it would really do him any good, but even tiny clues about the youngest archangel would be better than nothing.

 

…

 

“Cas?” Dean asked, answering his phone on the first ring.

He was stopped at a burger joint about an hour and a half into Arizona, looking at another two hours or so of driving before he hit Flagstaff. He had just finished a delicious piece of homemade cherry pie when his phone rang.

“Dean,” the familiar rumble of Cas’s voice made him smile. He hated to admit it, but just hearing the angel’s voice had a calming effect on him.

“What’s going on? Sam said something about a lead?”

“That’s why I called. Unfortunately it didn’t work.”

Dean sighed, glad he hadn’t waited before driving down to Arizona. “What was it?”

“We had planned on using traces of Grace left in Sam to track Gadreel,” Cas told him. “However, there weren’t any traces when we tried.”

“Is that normal?” Dean asked, not sure if he should be even more worried for his little brother. He looked at the check the waitress placed on his table and tossed a few bills down before heading out to the Impala.

“It’s not normal, but it’s not impossible,” Castiel told him. “We’re not sure why it was missing. But we don’t know why he became aware of Gadreel in order to cast him out in the first place.” Castiel paused for a moment, and Dean could almost feel the angel’s discomfort. “You should talk to him about it, Dean.”

“He didn’t remember anything about it,” Dean told Cas, leaning against the driver’s side door. “Not much to talk about if he doesn’t remember.” In his mind’s eye, he could see Cas’s head tilt, bird-like, and his eyebrows furrow as he tried to discern whether or not Dean believed his brother. _Good luck_ , Dean thought. He hadn’t decided for himself yet.

“He remembers more now,” Castiel told him after a moment. “He didn’t want me to tell you, but I thought you should be prepared. He’ll tell you about it when you get back, and I think you should keep an open mind.”

“An open mind? What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asked.

“You’re probably not going to like what he tells you at first, but I’m not convinced it’s necessarily a bad thing.”

“Well maybe if you just told me, I’d be able to decide for myself,” Dean snapped, frustrated by the angel’s secrecy.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Sam should tell you,” Cas countered. “It’s his story. I just – I thought you should be prepared. And reminded that it’s not his fault.”

“Fine,” Dean said, running a hand over his face, wondering why he bothered to talk to anyone at all sometimes.

 “When are you coming back to the bunker?” Castiel asked after a moment.

“Not sure. I think I found something.”

“Where?”

“Flagstaff, Arizona,” Dean told him, drawing out the words. “There’s been some strange murders there. Figure I’ll check it out, see what I can do.”

“Will you return after that?” Castiel’s words were almost resigned. The tone made Dean’s chest feel tight, acutely reminded of how he pushed Cas out of his life just when Cas needed him to teach him to be human.

“Do you need me there?” Dean asked sincerely.

“Of course we do,” Castiel told him, sounding genuinely surprised by the question.

Dean looked down, studying the cracked, dusty paving of the parking lot. “I’ll see what turns up here, give you a call after. If it doesn’t lead anywhere, I’ll come back,” he promised, half wondering if he should look for more leads before he wrapped up this case.  He needed more time before he went back – he hadn’t been lying when he had told Sam that he needed to clear his head. More than that, he needed to be away from Sam and Cas, as he clearly couldn’t trust himself to be near them.

He needed them safe, so he could do his job.

But he also missed his angel.

“All right,” Castiel agreed.  “The sooner you return, the better, I think.”

“Sure,” Dean said, trying not to sound too dismissive. He paused, gathering his thoughts. “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Thanks. For taking care of Sammy. When I can’t,” Dean said, his voice tight. 

“You could,” Castiel told him. “You didn’t have to leave so soon.”

“We’ve been over this –” Dean started.

“I know, Dean, and I understand,” Castiel told him. He paused, then said, “You’re welcome.”

“Ok, I’ll call you tonight,” Dean said, uncomfortable. He turned off the phone and slid into the car before the conversation could go any further.

He wiped one hand over his face. How the Hell was he going to do this?

Dean started the car and set out, concentrating on getting to Flagstaff, and trying to forget about everything else for the time being.

 

…

 

Dean really hated cities. Even small cities like Flagstaff. It was easy enough to fade into the background here – get a motel room, sell a cover story, generally move undetected – but the people always seemed less curious, less likely to know the neighborhood gossip.

Darkness was falling by the time he left the police station, after acquiring a key and some relevant files, and found the house where the murders had taken place. It was a nice enough house, in a quiet neighborhood outside the city limits. A family had lived here: a father, mother and two daughters. They had all just disappeared one day, with no notice to their friends or neighbors.

A few days later, a neighbor had called the police to look in on the place, complaining primarily of the smell. They had found the bodies in the basement.

Even with a key and the backing of the local police department, Dean felt odd walking into the house alone. He kept looking over his shoulder, wanting to depend on backup that wasn’t there.

Ruby’s blade in one hand and loaded gun hanging heavily on his hip, he slowly made his way through the house, looking for the basement. It was definitely a demon; the stench of sulfur permeated the place. His skin crawled under the weight of the scent, and his free hand unconsciously brushed his anti-possession tattoo.

He wished, not for the first time, that Castiel still had his wings. Hunting alone was one thing, but he had no idea if there were any demons here, or how many there might be. A prayer for angelic backup would have made him feel a lot better just then.

The basement was spacious and finished, one of those places where families set up a second living room or office. It was miraculously empty. The walls were bright white, the carpet originally a nice cream color. It had been cleared of any furniture, apparently to make room for a ritual.

The carpet was now stained in blood, mostly by sigils Dean didn’t recognize. More sigils were painted on the wall, again in blood. In fact, blood was everywhere, along with bits of human hair, teeth, even bones.

Dean took out his phone and started taking pictures to send to Sam and Cas. Maybe Castiel would recognize them, or if not, Sam would be able to research them. He frowned as he started at the ones on the floor – those weren’t demonic symbols. Those were Enochian, or at least a handful of them were. Dean couldn’t understand what they meant, but the style was unmistakable.

He saw a scrap of something in one corner. Carefully, using the toe of his boot, he spread it out on the floor. It was skin, not yet found and collected by the forensics team. Branded into it was most of a pentagram, encircled by flames.

Demons killing hunters, and using angelic symbols to do it. What the Hell had Dean stumbled onto?

 


	7. A Night Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking of combining this and the next chapter, because they're both in the same emotional vein, and the real plot starts soon after. However, that would mean a pretty huge word chapter compared to the rest, and the flow would be off (at least in my head). Instead, I think I'm just going to give you two chapters a week this week, and possibly next. I'm pretty happy with where this is so far, but I'm really excited to share what comes next. So, look out for a second update today or tonight. :)

Cas stood behind Sam as they scrolled through the images Dean had emailed him. Castiel had Dean on speaker phone, and Sam listened attentively as he described the case.

“Nothing I can do here now,” Dean admitted, sounding shaken. “The demons are long gone, and the only victims they left are dead.”

 Sam almost didn’t want to ask, but: “The hunters, were they –”

“I don’t know. There wasn’t much to identify them by,” Dean told him, anticipating the question.

“Right,” Sam said, his chest tight. “Garth?”

“No way,” Dean told them. “Two women, both on the shorter side, and a big bear of a man. That’s pretty much all I have.”

Sam relaxed infinitesimally.  He didn’t think he knew any hunters matching that description, and definitely none who hunted in groups.

“Are you coming back to the bunker then, Dean?” Cas asked, and even Sam could hear the emotion making his voice even more rough than usual.

“I’m heading out first thing,” Dean confirmed. “I should be there late tomorrow night.”

“That’s a fifteen hour drive, Dean,” Sam cut in. “And if you’re already there and done with a case, that means you did another fifteen over the last two days. Take a break first.”

“No, Sam. I want to get back and find out what Crowley knows about this. Then back on the road.”

Crowley, of course, was still locked up in a lower level of the bunker. “We’re not talking to Crowley tomorrow night when you get home. It won’t be the end of the world if you stop for the night when you hit Colorado and get here Thursday instead,” Sam told his brother. Not that he didn’t think Dean could do the drive, but they weren’t exactly facing down the apocalypse anymore. He could afford to be a bit smarter about his well-being.

“What, do you not want me there or something?” Dean asked, immediately defensive.

Sam looked back at the phone incredulously. He opened his mouth to retort, but bit his lip and counted to ten instead. “You know what? Do what you want.”

He looked at Cas, silently letting the angel know that Dean was _his_ problem.

Cas got the message and switched the phone off speaker mode, bringing it to his ear. The glare in his eyes quite clearly said ‘He’s _your_ brother,’ but Sam chose to ignore it.

“I believe Sam is right. It would be safer for you to take a break,” Sam heard him say as he headed toward his room.

Sam sighed and ran one hand through his hair. How the Hell was he going to talk to his brother about Gabriel if they couldn’t even talk about a simple drive?

Gabriel. Damn. He had been trying not to think about him.

Forcing himself to think about anything but the archangel, he sprawled out on his back on his too-short bed as soon as he got into his room. Maybe he should think about replacing that, he considered, if he was going to be here for the long haul. And put something on the walls; something to look at when he woke up instead of bare beige.

‘Nesting,’ Dean had called it. But Sam had only _nested_ with the guidance of Jess, and later Amelia. Why bother when he was on his own?

Gabriel would probably snap up some erotic posters if he came in here, just to make it interesting. The worst _Casa Erotica_ ones he could imagine, most likely.

Gabriel. Again.

Sam indulged his wandering mind and conjured an image of the archangel in his head. Was he actually still alive? Did Sam want him to be?

Yeah, he realized, he kinda did. He hoped Gabriel was alive somewhere, with the other angels he had been gathering in that strange hazy place. He had been the best of the archangels, in his own messed up way. Which, to be fair, just about reached Winchester levels of dysfunctional. He didn’t deserve the death his brother gave him.

And maybe Sam wanted him alive for selfish reasons, too. The archangel had been cruel to him once, but he had apologized – or, at least Sam thought he had – and had come to fight on their side. Could he be an ally somehow?

Sam closed his eyes, wondering for a moment if he could just contact Gabriel. He had almost forgotten how to pray – was half convinced that it was a privilege he was no longer allowed – but it wouldn’t hurt to try.

_Gabriel?_ He prayed silently, hoping the archangel would be the only one to hear. _I – uh – I don’t even know if you’re out there. But if you are, I’d like to talk. To know what’s going on. I – honestly, I think I’m going crazy here. Again. But if I’m not, maybe stop by and let me know? And let us know you’re ok?_

It wasn’t the most eloquent, but it would do the trick.

He opened his eyes and sat up, surveying his empty room. No rush of angel wings or sound of fingers snapping filled his ears. No Trickster-Archangel popped into the room, eyebrows wild or giving him a measuring stare. Just…beige.

Sam sighed and fell back on his pillow in defeat, hitting his head on something far too hard to be pillow. He reached back and grabbed the offending item, then took a moment to study it.

Like millions others of its kind, the bar was covered in brown and silver wrapping, with large letters spelling HERSHEY’S across its length.

Sam smiled, bright and open. So, he had an answer.

 

…

 

Wisconsin was predictably boring.

Not that Gabriel wasn’t used to making his own fun, but right now that was not really an option. He had seventy-four other angels to worry about, at least until they got their feet under them and figured out what was going on in the world at large. He was not bringing them back to the land of the living just to watch them die in the angels’ stupid feuds.

So far, they had learned little more than what the last angels to enter the Void had told him: the angels had fallen from Heaven, stripped of their wings and exiled by Metatron. Malachi, Bartholomew and a few smaller factions were feuding on earth, recruiting vessels by the score, and generally causing havoc. Gabriel would have been proud of the lot if they weren’t so predictable in their chaos.

Gabriel itched to leave it all there and run. It would be easy to pick up the mantle of Trickster again, find some unworthy souls and show them the error of their ways. Even if the angels knew who he really was, it wasn’t like they could force him to join them or anything. And his angels still had their wings; they wouldn’t be bothered by the feuding factions if they didn’t want to be.

And yet, here he was, holed up in a small conference room, in the abandoned office building the angels had appropriated a few days ago. Samandriel and Barchael were on their way to see him – two scouts who had spent most of their lives on earth before their deaths. They had information, and they wouldn’t share it with anyone but him.

_Anael_ , he summoned the warrior silently. _You might want to be here for this._

She popped into the room just as he snapped up a Snickers bar. Dad, but he was glad to have chocolate back. He had missed it dearly in the Void.

“What’s up?” Anael asked, surveying the almost empty room.

“Scouts,” Gabriel told her, leaning against the lone table in the room casually. He was still tired, exhausted even, from the trip back to earth and the subsequent healing of Sam Winchester, but he tried not to let the other angels see. He pulled more green magic into him, relying on the reserves of pagan faith and magic he had stored away as the Trickster.

“Stop it. It’s weird when you do that,” Anael told him, almost whining like the little sister she was to him.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “What am I doing?”

“You flare green, with weird foreign power. It makes me wonder if I should follow you or fight you.”

“Are those our only options?” Gabriel asked her with a wink, deflecting.

She rolled her eyes. “You don’t even feel like an angel sometimes.”

“How do you think I kept myself out of Heaven so long?” he asked. “It’s a useful life skill.”

Anael sighed and shook her head before scolding, “Well, it’s one you probably shouldn’t use around the other angels. We’re a fragile enough group as it is right now. They need an archangel to lead them, not a pagan demigod.”

Gabriel truly doubted they needed either, but he held his tongue because the two scouts had just appeared. Barchael wore the vessel of a slight blonde woman, brown doe-like eyes giving her a deceivingly innocent look. Samandriel wore a skinny younger man, probably still a teenager, with odd scars on his forehead. Gabriel wondered why he didn’t heal those.

“Report,” Anael commanded, much more comfortable in the leadership position than Gabriel felt he had the right to be. He had almost forgotten that she had led a garrison before she had chosen to fall.

Barchael spoke first. She had been sent to spy on Malachi’s angels, Samandriel on Bartholomew’s. “Malachi is dead. Killed by Gadreel. His followers are flocking to Metatron and Bartholomew.”

Gadreel. That angel. The one who had tried to steal Sam.

“Nice to know he’s good for something,” Gabriel said flippantly, only giving them half an ear for a moment. Sam was praying – praying specifically to _him._ Asking for the same thing every human has prayed for at least once: proof.

“And what about Bartholomew?” Anael asked.

Gabriel didn’t move – he didn’t have to snap his fingers; that was just theatrics – but between one moment and the next, he gave Sam the only proof he could for now. More would have to wait for later.

Samandriel looked pained, but the boyish angel straightened his back and set his jaw. “Looking for converts, apparently to let him rule the angels,” he said. “He wants Castiel to join him, since he got his Grace back.”

“Castiel’s grace was restored?” Anael asked. “How?”

“No one knows,” Samandriel told them somberly. “He was taken by Malachi, supposedly to be converted to his cause, and walked away Grace intact, still staying out of the fight.”

Gabriel frowned. The Gates of Heaven were still closed, and when he stretched his senses he could _feel_ Castiel’s Grace tied up in the spell. _Castiel’s_ Grace. There was no mistaking it for any others’.  How could the others not notice it?

Maybe he should pay his little brother a visit and ask what charging station he’d been using, he thought before tossing the idea aside. Not yet, not while he had this band of angels trailing after him.

“Will he be difficult, do you think?”  Barchael asked Samandriel.

“Most likely. Bartholomew enjoys power,” Samandriel told her. “But his followers will be easily swayed. Once they come to us, he’ll follow.”

Gabe didn’t like the sound of that. Were they planning things without him? “Now when you say difficult, what exactly do you mean? Difficult to what?” Gabriel asked before taking a bite of his candy bar. “To talk sense into? To convert to pacifism? To introduce the Whedonverse to? Because believe me you angels are all missing out on the wonder that is great sci-fi.”

“To bring into our ranks,” Barchael explained, sounding a bit confused herself. She did not crack a smile at his banter, proper angel that she was. “Now that there’s an archangel to lead us –”

“Hold up,” Gabriel interrupted without thinking, putting one hand up in front of Barchael. “Who said anything about leading other angels? I’m just here to make sure all of you are on your feet before I go on my merry way.”

Probably. Maybe. He hadn’t actually decided yet.

“Gabriel, you can’t be serious,” Anael said, giving him a hard look. “The angels need you.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow at her.

“We need a leader,” Anael insisted.

“You know what? We’ll talk about it later,” Gabriel said. “Right now we have to take care of our own – those of us who just returned – and that does not mean bringing more angels to our side. We don’t even have a side.”

“I think we do,” Anael said, her vessel’s voice deceptively sweet. “At least, we’re in opposition to Bartholomew and Metatron both.”

“Fine, we can have a side if you want,” Gabriel gave in, annoyance coloring his voice. “Happy? Our side is the peaceful one. The one that doesn’t plot against other angels. Take your lead from Cassie: we’re staying out of this unless we know we can fix it.”

 “I think that’s wise,” Anael said calmly. “Perhaps we should contact Castiel.”

“Not yet,” Gabriel told her firmly. “For now we stay away. I don’t want to let anyone know we’re back until we’re ready.”

Anael looked at the scouts. “This conversation does not leave this room. You may update the others on Malachi, Bartholomew and Castiel, but nothing else.”

Both nodded in understanding.

“And the Whedonverse,” Gabriel chimed in just to be difficult. “New assignment: _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ marathon. Mandatory attendance.”

Both looked at him in utter confusion.

“That is not an assignment,” Anael said, rolling her eyes.

Gabriel smirked, until he realized Samandriel and Barchael were looking at him in askance, waiting for his final work on the matter. He was the archangel, after all. He rolled his eyes. “Fine – no _Buffy_ marathon. Unless you want to, which you really should. Anael’s still giving the day-to-day assignments.”

He looked around the room at the angels, who were coming to depend on him just a little too much. “If we’re done here, then?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

When no one responded for a moment, he snapped his fingers, thinking to fly himself somewhere a little more private. Like a beach on a volcanic island. With some hand crafted women to fan him and feed him sweets.

If he wound up in Lebanon, Kansas instead, well, no one had to know.

 

…

 

“I believe Sam is right. It would be safer for you to take a break,” Cas told Dean over the phone, and Dean could tell by the clarity of his voice that he had been taken off speakerphone.

_Bitch,_ he thought, though Sam of course couldn’t hear the insult.

“It’s fine, Cas, I’ve been on the road my whole life,” he reminded the angel, sitting down in his motel room’s single armchair.

Like every one before it, this room was dirty and cramped. It was decorated with a disturbing combination of faded teals and lime greens. Dean had kept it relatively neat thanks to the military training his father had instilled in him, but the table was already littered with a couple of empty beer bottles, which were joined by the still-closed bottle he had just grabbed. There were more in the mini-fridge waiting, of course.

Castiel paused for a moment, then conceded. “It’s your choice, Dean. But we’re not talking to Crowley tomorrow night.”

“All right. That’s fair,” Dean nodded, though he really wanted to interrogate the demon. He reminded himself that Cas and Sam hadn’t witnessed the grisly scene he had just come back from. “How are things there? Really?”

“Better than expected,” Castiel told him. “Sam seems to have fully recovered.”

“Good, that’s real good,” Dean told him, genuinely glad to hear the news. He had been so worried for his little brother.

 “How are you, Dean? I know hunting alone can be…challenging.” And there it was – the reason for any phone call with Cas. Warmth spread over him as Cas asked the simple question. He tried to push it away, as he was pushing his brother and angel away, but it lingered.

Dean closed his eyes a moment, vivdly remembering the gruesome scene he had left that evening, and the connotations. _Like I could use some backup,_ he thought. _Exhausted and lonely and sick of death all around me._

“I’m all right,” he told his best friend. “Could do without another case like this one again, but it’s not the worst we’ve seen.”

“That’s good,” Cas said, and Dean heard a strained tone in his voice. “It will be good to have you back here.”

“What’s wrong, buddy?” Dean asked automatically.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Castiel said. Dean waited in silence for a few seconds, making it clear that he didn’t believe the angel, before Castiel amended his statement. “Nothing that can be fixed,” he said. “I find it unsettling, having Grace again and yet having some of my powers out of reach.”

“You miss your wings?” Dean translated.

“Among other things,” Castiel admitted.

“Well you know, much as I’d love for you to be able to pop by for a visit, I’m just glad you’re back,” Dean confessed.

Castiel was silent for a moment, and Dean could almost hear the surprise on the other line. “Thank you,” Castiel said solemnly after a long time. “That means a lot to me, Dean.”

“Look,” Dean said, suddenly uncomfortable, “it’s late and I want to be on the road early tomorrow. I’m gonna get some sleep.”

“Of course,” Castiel agreed. “Will we see you tomorrow or Thursday?”

Dean grimaced. “How about I call you tomorrow if I stop in Colorado? Otherwise, expect me back late.”

“Alright, then,” Castiel said, and Dean knew he wanted to push the issue. He was glad he didn’t. “Good night, Dean.”

“Night, Cas.” Dean smiled, putting his phone away. Despite the bickering with his brother, the conversation made him feel better. About everything. Cas often had that effect on him.

He put the still-closed bottle of beer back in the mini-fridge as he got ready for bed, deciding he didn’t need any more that night.

 

…

 

Sam had trouble getting to sleep that night.

Truth be told, even now, Sam always had trouble sleeping when Dean was too far away, on a hunt or something. He had grown up with that worry, forever building in his stomach over his father’s hunting trips. And now it often swept back over him – too much had happened for it not to. Dean had been to Hell, to Purgatory. He had faced death countless times, and had just watched as an angel in Sam’s body killed their friend and charge.

So he stayed up late, hoping his brother wasn’t drinking too heavily, or chasing trouble, or engaging in any of his worst coping mechanisms. He almost prayed for it, until he remembered who would be listening.

When he did finally get to sleep, he was faced with someone else to worry about.

He found himself in a field, one he recognized. At least a mile square, it was a huge stretch of land not far from the bunker. He stood in the center, Gabriel sitting just in front of him.

“Come to watch me again? This stalking thing is becoming a habit, Winchester,” Gabriel told him with a raised eyebrow. “Or can you talk this time?”

Sam tried. “Uh – yeah, actually. I can. Why the change?”

“Probably because we’re here now, and not there,” Gabriel told him simply.

“What does that mean?” Sam asked. “Where was there?”

Gabriel looked up at him, and Sam could see gaunt cheeks and a tired pallor. “I’ll tell you another time, Sasquatch. How about you tell me something for once?”

“Like what?” Sam asked, sitting down beside the archangel.

“I don’t know. Anything,” Gabriel said. A small smile played on his lips. “Tell me a story. A good one. Fill me in on what’s been happening while I was gone.”

“None of those stories are particularly happy,” Sam warned him.

“Then make something up,” Gabriel insisted, laying back lazily. “Something embarrassing about your brother and mine.”

Sam smirked.  “Yeah, no. I’m not touching that one. But how about the time Dean started talking to animals and made me play fetch with him?”

Gabriel grinned. “Perfect!”

Sam leaned back on his elbows, staring up at the hazy sky as he retold the story, adding embellishments here and there to give it extra flavor. By the end of it, he was grinning genuinely, and reminding himself to tease his brother about these things more often.

“That’s a good look on you,” Gabriel commented, looking up at him.

“Huh?” Sam asked eloquently.

“The smile thing. Not something I’ve seen on you often.”

Sam screwed up his face unattractively. “Yeah, I wonder why,” he said sarcastically, annoyed to be jarred away from the tranquility of the dream.

“Aww, don’t be like that,” Gabriel said dramatically, waving one hand above his face. “I thought we were past those things.”

“Past what?” Sam asked, and he could hear some bitterness creeping into his voice. “You killing my brother a few hundred times, or me starting the freakin’ apocalypse?”

“And ending it,” Gabriel reminded.

Sam scowled at him, his mood growing stormy.

“Look,” Gabriel said, sitting up and looking Sam directly in the eyes. In the space of a second, he went from languid and jovial to deadly serious. “I don’t know what’s going on - I didn’t think you were still mad at me, and there’s no reason to still be brooding over the apocalypse. What I did then – I was trying to prove a point with Dean, but that was never going to work with you. I thought you knew that I was sorry. I thought I sacrificed enough to prove it the first time around.”

And he had, Sam remembered, And Sam had forgiven him a long time ago.

Sam lowered his eyes to stare down at his hangs intently. “I know,” he said after a long pause. “I’m not – it’s not about you. I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“Then what’s it about?” Gabriel asked.

Sam closed his eyes, trying to decipher all the strands of emotion running through him. Guilt about the apocalypse, still lingering over Ash and Jo and Ellen. Regret that he had not completed the Trials and redeemed himself. Anger over Gadreel, and the way he had been used. Disappointment in Dean, for not letting him finish, and for letting Gadreel in.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Let’s – let’s talk about something else. Were those other angels real? The ones I saw: Anna and Naomi and the rest? Are they back?”

Gabriel shook his head. “No telling, Sammy. At least not yet.”

“It’s Sam,” he said halfheartedly, knowing Gabriel wouldn’t listen.

The archangel winked at him. “It’s time to get up.”

“Will we see you again?” Sam asked hurriedly. “Awake, I mean.”

Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows comically. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” he asked.

He tilted his head and gave Sam a measuring look, much as Castiel was apt to do. Sam thought he was going to say something, but he kept his lips pressed together tightly.

Then he raised one hand, snapped, and suddenly Sam was back in his bed, awake and refreshed.


	8. Old Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a second chapter today! If you're just clicking on here and looking for the latest chapter, you might want to go back one - I updated this at around 7 this morning and again now at 5pm. Unless you were reading during the work day, you probably missed it. ;)
> 
> Sorry for all the angst. I had to do it. They're Winchesters. That's why I posted it with the other one this week instead of posting this chapter along next week.

Sam passed the time the next day by starting to explore the bunker, something they hadn’t had a chance to do thoroughly yet. Most of their time had been spent in the main floor library, or down in the third sublevel storage area where they kept Crowley. The second level down, which was comprised of mainly bedrooms, was mostly a mystery outside the bunks they had chosen for themselves.

So Sam found himself walking through the halls of the second sublevel, trying to ease his emotions as he went through the relatively dull task of cataloging the place. He had a pad of graphing paper and a pencil, and he tried to map out the place as well as he could, in case they didn’t find any blueprints when they got around to looking for them.

 Each of the lower levels were larger than the first, having the luxury to sprawl out below the city sewers and pipes unnoticed, whereas the main level would have been discovered if the city ever expanded. This one seemed to go on forever.

It was clear that the Men of Letters had built it rather soon before their downfall in his grandfather’s time, despite how well they had stocked the place. It was almost creepy, how much history was here, and how empty most of the sleeping quarters were. Only half a dozen rooms had the remnants of habitation. Another hundred or so were as pristine as the day they were built. Some were small, like his and Deans, but others were larger, boasting double beds and more storage: clearly, a place for couples. All of those were untouched.

It made Sam wonder how far the Men of Letters plans went for this place.

At the end of one hall was a large mess hall and kitchen, clearly meant to be used while the place was at full capacity. It, too, was clean and untouched, steel pots and pans gleaming bright under incandescent lights.  Sam wondered if the ovens would still work, and how many people they would need for the large kitchen on the main floor to no longer suffice.

There were lounges scattered throughout the floor as well: small rooms with couches, small shelves of fiction, and even some black-and-white TVs, though Sam had no idea how the rabbit ears could possibly work this far down. Apparently the Men of Letters appreciated pleasure reading as well as research, as these shelves were filled with everything from cheap western and sci-fi novels to classics like Dickens and Huxley.

Finally, Sam came to a hall filled with small suites. Just two or three bedrooms each, connected by a small living room/kitchenette combination room. Each had a main bedroom with a double bed, and at least one smaller bedroom with two single beds.

Kid’s rooms, he realized with a shock, sliding his back down one wall to sit on the floor beside it. He knew the Men of Letters had families – they passed their knowledge down patrilineally – but he hadn’t had a chance to think on what that would mean in terms of their work. The Men of Letters had obviously cared for those families, and were planning for them when they built the bunker.

If not for Abaddon’s rampage, would their father have been able to keep him and Dean here after their mother had died? Would she have even died in a world where Henry Winchester never jumped to the future? Even if John _was_ hunting, would he have been able to leave Sam and Dean with other Men of Letters – a family of sorts – while he was gone? Could they have had a stable, if not normal, upbringing?

The questions hit Sam like punches to the gut, one after another, and he was glad he was sitting down when they dawned on him. There was so much potential here, and so much Abaddon had taken away from the life they could have had. Abaddon, Azazel, the angels and their apocalypse….He’d forgotten how much he wanted that stability of a _home_ once, but it came rushing back to him, with all the crushing regret of what could have been.

He sat there for a long time, stewing in his rage and depression.

 

…

 

Dean, of course, was back that night. Sam knew he would be. Taking care of himself had never been his brother’s strong suit.

Despite knowing it would happen, Sam was annoyed by it. Or, maybe he was just generally annoyed by Dean. He was still raw from his realizations that afternoon, and didn’t want to deal with his brother as well. So when Dean came into the library just after eleven to let him know he was back, Sam just grunted at him and kept his eyes trained on his book.

“Hey,” Dean said, looking over Sam. “You ok?”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam told him, glancing up to meet his eyes. His brother looked exhausted and haunted. Those bodies must have been gruesome if they affected Dean so much, after all he had seen. “I just needed some rest.”

Dean nodded. “Good.”

Sam went back to his book, hoping that was the end of it, and that his brother would just leave him alone for the rest of the night.

“Look, I –” Dean began roughly. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. About Ezekiel – or Gadreel. I didn’t have many options at the time, but I should have told you about it after. Let you make the call.”

“Yeah, you should have.” Sam snapped. Fine. If Dean wanted to bring it up, he’d let him. He was itching for a fight anyway. He continued: “You shouldn’t have had to make the decision in the first place. You should have let me finish the Trials.”

“You were gonna die, Sammy!” Dean snapped back.

“I _knew_ that!” Sam tossed the book down and stood up, pacing toward his brother. He wished he was wearing shoes so the heels could echo on the tiled floor. “I knew that and I was fine with it. At least my death would have meant something!”

“Well I wasn’t!” Dean shouted. He shook his head, and continued in a low, broken tone. “Do you really think I could have just sat there and watched you die? Again?”

“This would have been different,” Sam said, his voice controlled now, but no less angry as he pressed into Dean’s personal space. “I wasn’t going to the Cage this time, and it wasn’t some meaningless mistake. I was _closing the Gate to Hell._ The ones _we_ let Jake open. We’re responsible for that.”

“No, _Azazel_ was responsible for that,” Dean told him harshly, finger jutting up toward Sam’s face. “We tried to stop him. And we dealt with him.”

Sam shook his head, not willing to get into a fight about blame. “It was still our problem. We were the only ones who could fix it, and we were almost there. We were so close. You should have given me the chance to make the choice myself!”

“We’ll find another way,” Dean insisted, voice still low.

“There _is_ no other way!” Sam shouted. He pivoted away from Dean and took a breath, reigning in his anger. He threw his hands up, running them through his hair in frustration instead of punching his brother like he really wanted to do.

Dean shook his head slightly, biting his bottom lip as he thought. “I couldn’t do that, Sam,” he said at length, voice low and broken. “I can’t. You know I can’t. And I’m not apologizing for that.”

Sam turned back and glared at his brother. “Well maybe you have to learn to,” he said. “What’s going to happen the next time? Are you going to save me over the world again? Even if I don’t want it? Sell your soul again, maybe?”

Dean frowned like he was actually considering the options.

“Come on, Dean!” Sam shouted. “Really? _Really_?! After everything we’ve seen?”

“Well maybe I think we’ve seen enough sometimes,” Dean told him. 

Sam ignored him, continuing his rant. “With everything we’ve been through, don’t you think at some point we’re going to have to make choices – hard choices – to make sure there’s a happy ending out there? To save people? Isn’t that what we do?”

“Maybe I don’t want to make those choices all the time,” Dean told him. “Maybe I’m tired of me and _my family_ being expected to save the world every freaking time something tries to destroy it. Yeah, that’s what we do, but are we the only ones? Maybe we deserve a break every once in a while.”

“What do you think that would have been for me?” Sam asked, lowering his tone. “I was ready to die knowing I’d fixed things. I was going to be able to rest guilt-free for the first time since Jess died. Don’t you think maybe, on some level, I was looking forward to that? To not having to carry all this guilt anymore?”

He looked down, unable to look at his brother’s face, knowing the stricken look he had put there. He bent and picked up his book, then quickly retreated from the room before Dean could find the words to respond.

He kept his back straight and his head high right up until the moment he entered his room. Then he slammed the door shut, locked it, and threw himself on the bed in a raw, exhausted heap.

 

…

 

Cas appeared in the library before Dean almost as soon as Sam left it.

Not really, of course – Dean was acutely reminded of the angel’s lack of wings – but it certainly felt that way to Dean, who was still lost in a hazy shock from his brother’s last words.

_Shit. Is that really how Sammy feels? Does he really want to –_

Dean couldn’t even finish the thought.

“You heard that?” he asked his angel instead.

“Enough of it,” Cas told him. “I couldn’t help it – even as a human, it would have been difficult not to.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, dropping into a chair to put his head in his hands, elbows propped up on his knees. “Sorry about that.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Cas told him. Dean looked at his angel tiredly, not finding the will or energy to respond.

“If it’s any consolation,” Castiel said carefully, sitting down beside him. “I don’t believe Sam is a danger to himself.”

“He’s not,” Dean agreed, lifting his head just enough to look at Cas. At least he was certain of that – he knew his brother, could read him easily. Sam was angry, disappointed and tired, but he wasn’t anywhere near that desolate. “He’s a lot of things, but he’s definitely not that.”

“I also think he’s wrong,” Castiel continued, putting one hand on Dean’s knee. “You and your brother have paid enough for this world; there’s no reason to expect more from you. You, of all people, deserve to be able to put your family first.” Cas gave him a small, wry smile. “I’ve been known to be wrong before though. Especially when it comes to saving the world.”

“Haven’t we all?” Dean asked wearily, meeting Cas’s too-blue gaze. For a moment, they sat there in silence, with nothing left to say, though too much was left unsaid. Sam would need time, Dean knew – maybe some time away from him. But first they would have to interrogate Crowley together, and come up with a plan for Abaddon.

Cas moved his chair closer to Dean, then, to the hunter’s surprise, wrapped his arms around Dean’s shoulders supportively. It was an awkward angle for it, and one arm of the chair was certainly digging uncomfortably into Cas’s midsection, but Dean had to admit that it was not unwelcome.

Dean sat there, shocked.

“I’m told this is the part where you hug back,” Cas told him gently.

That startled Dean into moving, raising his hands to wrap around Cas’s waist, and lowering his face to his wide shoulders.  He breathed in the angel’s scent – warm and clean and familiar, after all they had been through – and remembered nights in purgatory, sleeping close while Cas kept watch over him. Thing had been hard there, but they were simple. He had known the score there, and their goals were clear: survive and escape. He almost missed it.

Dean relaxed there, feeling his racing heart slow, his breath ease. He tried to pull away as he gained control of himself, but Cas held him with angelic strength, and it didn’t take much convincing for Dean to stay. He had tried; Cas hadn’t let him go. Therefore, he could always blame it on the angel if his brother came back and caught them in such an unmanly moment.

Finally, once his heartbeat and breathing returned to normal, and Dean no longer felt as though he was going to break down, Cas released him gently. Dean sat back in his chair and looked down at his hands, hoping Castiel wouldn’t want to do something stupid, like talk about this.

Cas sat beside him silent for a moment, his silence making it clear that he was ready to let Dean drive the conversation.

Even if he didn’t want a girly moment, Dean wasn’t quite ready to forget that embrace. He looked up at the angel and forced a smile, trying to bring some levity to the situation. “And just who have you been hugging recently?”

He really hoped that didn’t come out as jealous as it sounded.

Cas didn’t seem to notice. “Sam,” he said. “Or, he hugged me.”

Dean shook his head, blinking back the stinging sensation in his eyes. “He’s such a girl.”

Cas looked confused at him, but at least he wasn’t asking for Dean to explain himself anymore.

“How is he, anyway? Is he really good?” Dean asked, still concerned for his brother. It still didn’t seem possible that he could be healed so quickly and completely.

“Amazingly, he’s fine, Dean,” Cas assured him. “He’s completely healed. Back to full strength, I think.”

Dean nodded. “And you? Are you good?’

Cas inclined his head, an all too human expression of exhaustion and regret on his face. “As good as I can be.”

Dean looked at him, remembering Cas as a human, how he had eked out a meager existence without them to show him how to really be human. How lonely he had seemed then, and how Dean had left him there.

And maybe it was the emotional upheaval of his argument with Sam, or exhaustion paired with the almost shocking lack of alcohol in his system at this hour, but he found himself speaking almost before he realized he was about to.

“You know, I’m sorry man. For leaving you like that.”

Cas looked up, eyebrows raised in surprise.

Dean continued. “I mean, when you fell. I should have told you about Ezekiel – Gadreel. We should have been there for you, showing you the ropes, helping you figure out how to be a hunter, or just human.”

“Dean, I understand why you made the choice you did,” Cas assured him.

“I know you understand,” Dean argued. “But that doesn’t mean it was the right call. The three of us? We need each other to look out for us. It doesn’t work when we split up like that. I should have known that.”

“Should you have also known that when you went off on your own three days ago?” Cas asked dryly.

Dean frowned at him. “This isn’t about that. This is about you. And us – me – not having your back. I’m sorry about that. Really. It was a dick move.”

Cas shook his head. “It’s fine, Dean, really. I forgive you.”

Dean couldn’t say for sure, but the angel looked lighter, saying those words.

Dean stood up and put his hands on his hips, looking away from the angel again. That was it. He had definitely hit his limit on emotion tonight. “I think I’m going to hit the hay.”

“Is there anything you need?” his friend asked, and Dean could see genuine concern in his eyes.

“Nah,” he said, unable to take the proffered help. He stood up, forcing Cas to move his hand away from his knee. “Just sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Sleep well, Dean.”

“Good night, Cas,” Dean said, heading to his room.

He was going to need a good night’s sleep if he was going to act like nothing happened tomorrow. And God help him, but there was no way he was going to bring up any of this conversation again.


	9. A Date with Crowley

Of course they ignored the entire thing the next day. Sam knew they would; it was how Winchesters dealt with problems.

In his makeshift cell, Crowley was just as charming as ever. Sitting in a dark corner of a storage closet, shackled and disheveled, he was still trying to bargain with the three of them.

Sam had to control his eye rolls.

“You know, I would be a lot more use to you in Hell. It’s not like I’ve any contacts stuck here,” he cajoled them.

“And yet I still think you can tell us something,” Dean said, an evil smile on his face as he played with an angel blade. And yeah, Sam’s brother was creepily good at this interrogation thing. Like, really creepy these days.

“Really, squirrel? You want to play dirty with that thing?” Crowley cooed suggestively.

“Enough,” Sam said. “If you don’t have anything for us, we don’t need to be down here.” He made for the exit, gesturing for Dean and Cas to follow.

Crowley finally sat up straight when he saw all three of them move to leave. “No, wait! It’s so _boring_ here!” he said, clearly not willing to call their bluff. “There might be something.”

Dean looked back at him, eyebrow cocked in question.

“A place where the Knights gathered before they were destroyed. I don’t know if it’s still in use, but only a Knight could open it,” he explained. “She’s probably using whatever they had stored there.”

“Where?” Sam asked.

Crowley shook his head, then looked down meaningfully at the Devil’s Trap on the floor. “Information has a price, moose.”

“What do you want? Freedom is off the table,” Sam told him. They had enough on their plate as it was without the King of Hell out, too.

“Now, now. That’s not nice. At least give me a fair negotiation.”

“Yeah, no,” Dean said. He moved back to the table in front of Crowley, leaning down to look him in the face. “Now, you can tell us, and give us all the relevant information so we can do our thing and maybe get back here alive – wouldn’t want us to die and leave you here and powerless forever, would we? – or you can keep your mouth shut and let Abaddon beat us _and_ you. Your choice, but the way I see it, there’s only one way you get to keep that throne of yours.”

Crowley scrunched up his face in a sneer. It wasn’t half as intimidating while looming over the collar around his neck. “A vial of blood. Human.”

“No,” Dean said. “That’s just creepy.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Who do you think I am?”

“Why?” Sam asked, thinking back to the last time he had seen Crowley with Kevin’s blood, shooting it into his veins like a junkie.

“Why does it matter? You give me blood, I give you information. Deal?”

Dean looked up between Sam and Cas. “Come on,” he said gesturing toward the exit.

“What? You can’t just leave!” Crowley snapped. “At least let me counter-offer.”

“We’re not leaving, we’re talking,” Dean told him, rolling his eyes.

The three walked out of the storage closet entirely, and far enough down the hall that Crowley couldn’t hear them before Castiel talked. “I don’t like it. There are ways to bind a human using blood; even in the Devil’s Traps there’s no knowing what kind of spells he could perform.”

“I – uh, I think I know what he wants it for,” Sam told them. “Last time, when he called Abaddon, he stole some of it. He injected it into his arm when he thought no one was looking.”

“So, what, he’s gone vampire?” Dean asked, incredulity clear in his voice.

“I don’t know,” Sam shook his head. “A side effect of the Trials, I’d guess.”

Dean turned away, pacing down the hall, thinking. “Cas, would he be able to do anything with dead man’s blood?”

“Is it even worth it? This information is old – probably outdated,” Sam pointed out.

“But it’s the only lead we’ve got right now,” Dean told him. “Cas?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Castiel told them. “Though Crowley’s understanding of spells like this is much more extensive than mine.”

“Okay,” Dean said. “One vial of dead man’s blood, and he has to use it in front of us. Cas, do you mind?”

“Of course,” the angel said before heading to the cold storage where they kept their perishable tools and components.

Dean started walking back to Crowley’s cell, giving Sam little choice but to follow. “Alright, let’s tell his highness the good news.”

Sam frowned. “Are you sure –”

“We need this, Sam,” Dean interrupted. “You didn’t see what I saw in Flagstaff. That was a majorly nasty ritual. Something’s going on here – something big – and we need to nip it in the bud before it happens.”

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but stopped, opting to simply sigh and shake his head. There was no arguing with Dean like this; he wasn’t going to bother.

“Hello, boys,” Crowley said as they opened the shelves that hid his little room. His bravado was back, but Sam could see the wreck of a demon behind it. “Come to make me an offer?”

Sam took the syringe box from its place on a far shelf, then opened it to take one out. Dean could do the talking, he decided. He was better at it.

“No. We’re here to tell you how this is going to go,” Dean told him. “We know your little habit. You’re going to give us the information. Then we’re going to give you your blood, and you will use it in front of us. We’ll take back anything you don’t use. No spells, no playing with it, no keeping the extra.”

“Spoilsport. Which of you boys is going to be the lucky donor?”

“Neither. Cas is getting something from the fridge.”

“Not even fresh?” Crowley groused.

“We could refuse to give you anything,” Dean told him conversationally. “You have old information – it’s probably not even worth this. So what do you say? Deal?”

Sam turned around, letting Crowley see the syringe in his hand. He saw a glint of hunger in the demon’s eyes when he saw it. Hunger and desperation. The look only grew more crazed when he turned to see Cas walking in with a vial of red blood.

“I’ll take it,” Crowley told them.

“Ok, talk,” Dean prompted.

“Pennsylvania,” Crowley told them. “Clearfield.” He stretched his hands out for the blood in Cas’s hands.

“Where in Clearfield?” Sam asked, taking the blood from Castiel and filling the syringe with it.

“I don’t know – honestly, the Knights were before I came to any power. I know the town, but not the address.”

Sam handed the syringe to Dean, who held it in front of Crowley, just out of reach. “Really?” he asked.

“Yes, you bloody idiots, really! The Knights haven’t been around for decades! I was just a crossroads demon back then, not even in charge there!” He glared at the needle in Dean’s hands, and Sam could see his fingers twitch as though he was trying not to reach for it.

Yeah, they had a problem on their hands there. A problem Sam didn’t want to think too hard about right now.

Dean stared at him for a moment, then looked up to Cas.

“I believe he’s telling the truth, Dean,” Castiel told him. “In any case, Clearfield is a very small city. We shouldn’t have trouble finding a demon enclave if it exists.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at Cas, and Cas tilted his head to stare meaningfully at Dean. Sam could practically see the silent conversation play between them:

_And how would you know that?_

_Angel, Dean. Really? Did you forget?_

Sam pressed his lips together to stop from smiling at the pair. They had a job to do here.

“If you two could stop the flirting for a moment, I believe that’s mine,” Crowley said, holding out a hand pointedly.

Cas gave Dean a nod, and Dean turned back to hand the syringe to Crowley.

“Can I have a bit of privacy?” the demon asked.

“No,” Dean said simply, crossing his arms and watching him. Sam and Cas both mirrored his stance.

Crowley rolled his eyes before rolling up one shirt sleeve. He closed his eyes and pressed the needle into his vein before injecting the blood. Sam was fascinated by the way his face relaxed in ecstasy as the syringe emptied. Had _he_ done that to the King of Hell?

Crowley relaxed both arms as soon as the blood was gone, lost for a moment as though in a dream. Dean swooped in to snatch the syringe away as soon as it was free from his arm. “That’s enough of that,” he muttered, looking at the demon in disgust before stalking out of the cell.

Sam and Cas followed him, closing and locking the cell behind them. They had a job to prep for.

 

…

 

Dean made his way back to his room, exhausted by their session with Crowley. And just when had the Demon King begun injecting blood into his veins? The Trials made sense, but did that mean that _Sam’s_ blood was what he was really craving?

There were too many questions that came with that train of thought, and Dean couldn’t deal with them all right now. He pushed them away and grabbed his duffle from under the bed, trying to decide how much he needed to pack for.

And wasn’t that a treat, to actually get to leave some clothes behind on a hunt?

 “Dean.” Cas’s voice was suddenly close enough to make Dean jump. Even without flight, Castiel was amazingly good at sneaking up on him.

“Jesus, Cas, make some noise!” Dean turned around to face the angel.

“I’m sorry. From now on I’ll endeavor to stomp around you,” Cas said, a teasing glint in his eyes.

Dean couldn’t help smiling. One good thing had come from Castiel’s recent brush with humanity: a more solid sense of humor, with more dry sarcasm than Dean could recall before.

“What’s up, man?”

“I wanted to let you know I’m not coming with you to Clearfield,” Castiel told him.

Dean crossed his arms and looked the angel over. “Why not? We need you there.”

“No, you don’t,” Cas told him. “This is reconnaissance. You’re more than capable of handling it on your own.”

“Well, we want you there,” Dean amended. Because this was Cas, and sometimes he could say those things to the angel.

Cas smiled slightly. “I have other things I need to do.  Metatron must be dealt with.”

“And we’ll get to him. After Abaddon,” Dean argued.

Castiel shook his head, looking down. “I can’t do that, Dean. Metatron is my problem; my brothers and sisters are trapped on earth, wingless because of me.”

“Because Metatron tricked you,” Dean corrected him. “You sound like Sammy going on about Azazel.”

“In this case, I think I’m right. I was the one who gathered the components for Metatron, who placed my trust in him. At the very least, I have to try to make it right.”

Dean nodded. What else could he do? He knew exactly how Cas felt – he had been there enough in his life. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

“I don’t think so, no,” Castiel told him. “Just be careful up there. Don’t engage Abaddon directly yet.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” Dean agreed. “You’re coming with us to that party.”

“I expect to,” Cas told him. He paused for a moment, cocking his head and looking Dean over. “Has Sam talked to you yet?”

“About what?” Dean asked. Cause yeah, Sam had said a lot, but probably not what Cas was referring to.

“His escape from Gadreel,” Castiel said carefully.

“Not yet,” Dean confirmed. “Kinda think he’s going to try to get out of the conversation.”

“I can’t say it would be out of character. If he does bring it up, remember what I told you, about having an open mind. I don’t think there’s any danger, or I’d tell you myself.”

Dean nodded, not sure if that should make him feel better or worse. “Will I think there’s a danger?”

“Probably,” Castiel said. His mouth quirked into a grin. “But I’ve been told that you’re quite paranoid.”

“It’s not paranoia if you’re usually right,” Dean argued, shrugging one shoulder.

“I –” Cas stopped himself, and just looked at Dean for another moment. “I’ll be leaving tonight. Before you and Sam, most likely.”

“Cas –”

Dean threaded his fingers through his hair, unsure of how to say what he needed to. He couldn’t go on another hunt alone with Sam; he had left to keep Sam and Cas safe, and the job may have pushed him back here, but that just meant he was more likely to screw up again. And what if it was Sammy who died this time? Again?

“Cas, we need you with us, buddy,” Dean said, sounding lame to his own ears.

 Cas raised a hand to Dean’s right shoulder, not the one with the faded scar of his handprint but the bare one, and simply held the muscle there. “You don’t. I trust your judgment, Dean. I trust you and Sam will be fine.”

Dean closed his eyes a moment, then looked back up at his best friend. Cas looked as though he was going to say something else again, but then thought the better of it and closed his mouth, dropping his arm as he did so.

“I’ll keep you updated when I can,” he said at last.

“That’s what cell phones are for,” Dean reminded him with a nervous smile. He didn’t know what Cas was about to say, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He was sure, however, that he already missed feel of the angel’s reassuring hand on his shoulder. “We’ll do the same.”

“Good. I’ll let you pack then,” Cas said, with a warm half-smile, before turning and walking back out the door to Dean’s room.

“Yeah, cya, Cas,” Dean said weakly.

 

…

 

Gabriel frowned as he looked over his angels. Too small to be a host, too large to be called a flock. A garrison sounded to militaristic, and he wanted to avoid those connotations. And they probably wouldn’t like to be called a murder, much as he liked the dark humor there. A wing of angels, he supposed he should call them. Seventy-four angels and one archangel, and only he, Sam Winchester, and heaven’s least favorite petty criminal knew they were back. What was he going to do with them?

He snapped up a lollipop, out of habit more than actual desire. It materialized too fast, shocking his vessel’s fingers unpleasantly and making him frown. He shrugged it off and popped the candy into his mouth, then turned his attention back to the angels.

He’d never been one to overlook potential – that was how he become a Trickster, after all, once he ran away. Pagan worshippers were a fount of power which had masked his own. And he didn’t want to bring these angels back to just let them go join Bartholomew or one of the other factions; that would be the epitome of wasted power. He just wanted them to be peaceful, at least toward other angels, and get on with their lives. Hopefully in a way which did not require him leading them directly, because that was just not him.

He closed his eyes and stretched his wings. He could fly away now, go back into hiding and leave them to themselves. Even knowing he was alive, he doubted the angels could track him down, especially when so few were at full strength. He could go back to being a Trickster, leave the world of Heaven’s Hosts behind.

But that inevitably meant leaving the Winchesters behind, something he was loathe to do. It meant leaving the vast majority of his brothers and sisters weakened, fending for themselves against Hell and Purgatory. In the end, he knew, it could mean that humanity was just as screwed as it would have been after the apocalypse.

He sighed and began to draw his wings back in. No, there was no leaving them alone. At least not for the moment. But maybe he could go visit Sam for a bit, catch up on what else had been happening on earth, from the Winchester perspective. He wondered if Sam was asleep; he wasn’t sure he wanted to pop in on him in the flesh just yet, but another dreamwalk could be fun and productive.

Or maybe he could find that island. He hadn’t had sex since his return, and that was just out of character. The Casa Erotica series had been stagnating without his artistic direction –

A rush of cold flame washed over his body, sending every bit of him – vessel, grace and pagan demigod – on alert.

Someone had used his Horn. Not the physical instrument, but the symbol. _His_ symbol. Had perverted it and filled it with diluted power.

A flap of his wings, and he was standing in front of it, staring at the corrupt symbol. It was inscribed with angel blood, and amplified with griffin feathers.

_Dead_ griffins’ feathers, not those given freely. A direct slap in the face to Gabriel and his favored creatures.

Gabriel frowned as he touched the Grace that originally fueled the spell, in case he recognized it.

Gadreel. Of course. He would have to deal with that angel. He was just too much trouble.

Gabriel reached out and touched the sigil, changing it just enough to cause discomfort to its creator. A warped and discordant song to haunt his thoughts, making it difficult to think until the sigil was destroyed.

That was enough for now. He would make this slow, and make sure this Gadreel learned that his things were not to be toyed with.

With a thought, he was back in Wisconsin, ready to ensure that his own wing of angels would not answer the perverted Horn’s call.


	10. Meta-Meta-Fiction

Thirty-six hours later, Sam found himself with Dean in the Impala, trying very hard to concentrate on some files and not speak.

Castiel had opted to leave them alone, ostensibly to track down Bartholomew and his gang, now that he had his mojo back. Sam suspected his main motivation was to give him a chance to explain Gabriel to Dean – something he was loathe to do under any circumstances, but especially not before a hunt. He had avoided it for about twenty hours of driving, plus a night’s motel stay so far.

He knew he should bring it up, though. Probably before they got into town. He put down his file and steeled himself to talk.

“Anything good in there?” Dean asked when he heard the rustle of papers, clearly trying to force something civil between them.

“No – uh, just some new exorcisms, different languages, but nothing we don’t already have something for,” Sam told him.

Dean grunted an answer.

Sam let the silence stretch out for a minute before saying, “I remembered a bit more. About Gadreel.”

Dean glanced over at him, eyes wide, before looking back at the road. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam echoed. “I – I think it was Gabriel.”

The car swerved slightly as Dean looked at him in surprise. “Jesus, Sam! Don’t spring that shit on me while I’m driving!” He took a few breaths. “Gabriel? The archangel? The _dead_ archangel?”

“Not anymore?” Sam asked in a small voice, hoping Dean wouldn’t overreact too much. “I had dreams about him before, when Gadreel was – well, I thought they were just dreams, built up guilt, whatever. But I think I saw him wherever he was when Gadreel was taking over. He was with the other dead angels – Zachariah and Anna and everyone. I don’t know for sure, but I think he got a group together and somehow came back.”

 Dean glanced over angrily. “So, you’re telling me we have a whole bunch of dead angels flying around somewhere?”

“Maybe?” Sam responded. “Anyway, once he was back, Gabriel fought Gadreel to give me control and let me cast him out, then he healed me. I guess he sent me to the bunker afterwards, but I blacked out for that.”

He left out the part about the dream, and the candy that appeared on his bed. No point in making Dean even more suspicious.

“Are you sure?” Dean asked.

“Not really,” Sam answered honestly. “I mean, I’m pretty sure. But it’s not like I’ve seen him when I’m awake or anything. It could be something else.”

Dean sighed angrily. “Great. Just what we need. Another archangel.”

“He’s not exactly anything like his brothers,” Sam pointed out. “At least, he’s probably not going to be fighting for power.”

Dean pulled into a Super 8, and Sam realized they were already at their destination.

“Do you think he’s going to mess with us?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. “I think – I don’t know what to think. But the last two things he did were dying to save us from Lucifer, and then coming back and save me. I think we’re safe – or, at least we can wait until Abaddon and Metatron are dealt with before we worry about him.”

Dean nodded, parking the car. “All right. That’ll have to do.”

Sam could see the lines of stress and worry in Dean’s face, but he sighed in relief anyway. That had gone much better than expected.

 

…

 

Clearfield was pretty much like every other small town the Winchesters had visited. Families, business, churches, schools, a few small colleges, and that was pretty much it. No mentions of odd deaths or missing persons, and no overt supernatural history. It had even won some kind of award for being all-American back in the 60’s.

In short, Dean realized, it was the last place he would have looked for an enclave of the Knights of Hell. He was seriously beginning to wonder if Crowley had played them.

“Anything?” he asked his brother, who was currently wading through microfilm of newspapers from the 1950’s. Dean had started with the 60’s, but lost his motivation by 62.

“Not yet,” Sam said, annoyance clear in his voice. “This place is boring _._ ”

“Hey, boring’s good,” Dean reminded him. “Boring means nobody dies.”

Sam lifted his head long enough to give Dean a bitchface before going back to the archives.

Dean sat on a study table and watched his brother for a few more minutes, trying not to think too hard. He had held his tongue yesterday when Sam told him about Gabriel, because Cas had asked him to. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried. As far as he could tell, Gabriel was a wild card. There was no telling whose side he would take, if anyone’s. And in this business, wildcards were more dangerous than demons, even before the archangelic powers.

“Okay, so this is crap,” Dean said, taking stock of the situation. “Nothing weird since Horsemen were around. Where does that leave us?”

“At a dead end?” Sam asked, sounding tired.

Dean took a moment to look at his brother. Was he really well? Had that Trickster done a good enough job fixing him?

“Pretty much,” he agreed, trying not to let his worry show. “I wish Cas was here.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.

“He has his mojo back. He’d be able to tell if there were demons around,” Dean explained as though he were talking to a small child.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, still scrolling through the microfilm. “We’re gonna need something else this time.”

“Rituals?” Dean asked.

Sam perked up at that. “Maybe. Crossroads?”

“Nah, most of them are probably on Crowley’s payroll. They’ve had it good since he became King.” Dean hopped down from the table and started pacing. “Don’t we know anything that would summon the nearest demon?”

“Maybe,” Sam said. “But no guarantee that wouldn’t be Abaddon herself.”

“Shit,” Dean said.

“Wait,” Sam straightened up and leaned in to the screen to read the article on display. “Here’s something – a church closed in ’54. The pastor disappeared, and the congregation just stopped going. There’s a note from the city council meeting that it was condemned in ’56, but no plans to sell it off or destroy it. It’s like everyone just forgot about it.”

“That’s not much to go on,” Dean said, frowning.

“It’s all we’ve got,” Sam pointed out, agreeing with his brother.

“Think it’s still around?”

“Maybe,” Sam said, saving the page to print. “It’s about ten miles outside of town. Want to head there now?”

“Sounds good,” Dean said, already heading toward the exit, excited to finally get to work.

 

…

 

The church was still there, and it was creepy. It was situated off the road, with an ancient tree line hiding it from passersby. It was probably white once, but now it was a dingy grey, with the sickly feel of desecrated ground wafting from it.

Dean gripped the hilt of the demon blade harder as he stared at the sigils carved into what was once a classic picket fence. Sam had his cell phone out and was snapping pictures of them to analyze later.

“Can you make any of this out?” he asked his brother.

“I think it’s Ugaritic, but I can’t tell beyond that,” Sam said, voice low. He pocketed his phone and pulled out an angel blade.

 “Ug-what?”

“Ugaritic, Dean,” Sam said, pulling a bitchface. “One of the first human alphabets. Like, ever.”

“So this stuff’s old?”

“Whatever inscribed it must have been.”

“Like the Knights of Hell.” Dean frowned. The boss battle was waiting in there, and they didn’t even have their angel to back them up. They were not ready for this.

“We’re definitely on the right track. So what’s the plan?” Sam asked.

“We’re not looking for a fight – not yet. For now, we wait out here, find a defensible position,” Dean said, running through the possibilities in his head. “Sooner or later one of the lackeys will come out. We incapacitate it, see what it can tell us.”

Sam nodded, looking around for an appropriate place. Dean walked back to the trees, on the same mission as his brother.

 

…

 

 

Almost two hours in, nothing had entered or exited the church, and Dean was starting to wonder if this was a waste of time.

The hunters had laid a Devil’s Trap into the ground, covered it with foliage, and then found an innocuous place to hide. Sam had a second set of the demon shackles that worked so well on Crowley, and they had set up the trunk of the Impala to hold the thing.

Dean was currently carving a hunk of fallen wood into a very rough Impala, while Sam looked on, looking like he wanted to _talk_. Dean probably would have given up a while ago if it wasn’t so clearly stopping Sam from saying anything.

“Dean, there,” Sam hissed, simultaneously using military hand gestures to point out the demon who had just left the house.

It wasn’t Abaddon, or any other demon Dean recognized. It wore a short brunette girl, who looked almost uncomfortable in its surroundings, as though she expected a fight.

As planned, she walked straight into the Devil’s Trap on her way to the cars parked outside the church. Dean sprang on her before she could react to the trap, tackling her to the ground.

And damn, but he had almost forgotten how strong demons make hosts. Small though she was, this one packed a punch when she lashed out against him. He managed a blow to the head, stunning her enough for Sam to slip in with the engraved collar.

From there it was quick work to get the shackles on her wrists. With the restraints, she couldn’t fight harder than a human as they packed her into the Impala.

“Home?” Dean asked as they loaded into the front seat, eager to get out before any more demons came out to find them.

Sam looked at him questioningly.

“The bunker,” Dean clarified, and he hated the way Sam was so reticent to settle in there. Hadn’t he been the one who wanted a home so badly growing up?

 “Yeah, that makes sense,” Sam said. “I think there’s another cell like Crowley’s.”

Dean checked the time – almost six. Plenty of time to put as much distance between themselves and this place as possible. “We can make it at least to Columbus before we stop for the night.”

“Sounds good,” Sam agreed.

Dean’s phone rang and he tossed it to Sam before pulling out onto the road. “Take that, will you?”

“Hey Cas,” Sam said, and Dean cocked one ear to try to hear what his angel was saying. Of course, it was no use. That damn voice did not carry well.

“Sure – we’ll be back in the bunker in about two days,” Sam said into the phone.

A pause, then: “Alright, we’ll see you there. I’ll let him know.”

Dean glanced over to see his brother hitting the _End_ button on the phone. “What’s up?” he asked.

“Bartholomew’s dead,” Sam told him. “His followers want Cas to take his place, and he’s refusing. He should be back at the bunker sometime tonight or early tomorrow, well before us.”

“Perfect,” Dean said, turning his attention back to the road. Without looking, he grabbed a cassette from the glove compartment and popped it in. He smiled when it started to play; Sammy could use some reminding on how the awesomeness that was AC/DC completely eclipsed whatever shit he was listening to lately.

Yup, perfect.

 

…

 

Castiel could hear the perversion in Heaven’s Call, the slight undertone of pain that should never accompany the sound.

Still he found himself pulling off the road and following it into a warehouse. Through the echoing, gray halls, and into a basement room. Just outside the door, he could feel it pulsing through his stolen Grace, calling him back home.

It was quite disturbing.

He opened the door and walked in, surprised to find bodies littering the floor. He bit his lip and fingered his hidden blade. His brothers and sisters had died here, and he probably knew who was responsible.

He turned around, and found a strange sigil written in blood on the wall. The Call was coming from it. Cas took his phone out of his pocket and began to snap pictures of the sigil to send to Sam later. The younger Winchester would want to research it, possibly even identify it.

He felt movement behind him, and pivoted around to catch the arm of a girl with an angel sword. In a flash, his was out and in his hands, pressed threateningly to her neck.

“Please... please don't! Don't hurt me!” she begged. He looked at her, and realized how weak she looked, how her Grace faded in and out with exhaustion.

He sighed and dropped his blade, but not before plucking hers from her hand. “I'm not gonna hurt you. It's okay. What's your name?”

“Hannah,” she told him in a small voice.

“Hannah, what happened here?” Castiel asked

She looked at the sigil, as though that was all the explanation he

“Yeah, I... I heard it, too,” Castiel agreed. “What is it?”

She nodded. “I don’t know. It, uh, it sounded familiar. It sounded like Heaven. It's so strange down here. I, uh, followed the tone and found so many of my brothers and sisters had, as well. It felt safe here, and then the doors slammed shut and a strange angel arrived. He said he worked for the new God.”

“For Metatron?”

“Yes,” Hannah confirmed. “He made us an offer... join Metatron, fight for him, and those that did would one day be allowed to return to heaven.”

“Return to heaven?” He crinkled his eyebrows in confusion, one of the very human habits he had picked up with the Winchesters.

“I didn't believe him, either. But he said he would take us home. Some angels joined him. My friends and I refused, and, uh – ” She gestured to the corpses lying all around them.

Castiel lowered his eyes, regret washing over him at seeing more of his siblings dead. “I'm sorry for your loss. For all our loss.”

He touched her forehead, letting his Grace flow through the connection and heal her.

“You're Castiel, aren't you?” she asked, relief evident on her face.

“Yes.”

She tilted her head, looking at him knowingly. “You took a stand against Bartholomew. Are you going to help us, lead us against Metatron?”

Cas shook his head sadly. “I'm no leader,” he told her.

“But you – ”

“I am no leader, Hannah,” he interrupted, voice stronger this time. “But I will find Metatron, and I’ll make him pay.”

“Let me help you. Let us help you.”

Cas turned away, eyes down. This was not a battle he was sure he could win, and allies meant possible casualties. He could not have more angel blood on his hands. “You are safer away from me. Now, this angel who attacked you, what was his name?”

“Gadreel,” she told him.

Castiel nodded, not surprised after what Sam had told them. Gadreel was being played, just as Castiel had been, by a quite literally insane puppet master. Castiel would have to put a stop to it, one way or another.

 

…

 

“Perfect,” Dean said sarcastically, resisting the urge to throw his phone across the bunker. Cas wasn’t answering his phone – hadn’t answered it in over a day. It was off now, battery probably drained as Cas ignored it.

“Cas, buddy,” he growled, turning the words into a prayer. “You know I don’t like calling like this, but you’re not at the bunker, and you’re not picking up your phone. Maybe you could let us know you’re doing alright?”

He stood there for a moment, waiting for _something_ to happen. He wasn’t surprised when he didn’t get an answer, though.

Dean knew they shouldn’t have let Cas go on his own. Nothing good happens from splitting up. Hadn’t they learned that lesson yet?

“Demon’s in her cell. Pretty pissed off, but safe for now,” Sam said, coming up the stairs to the main level of the bunker. “Any word?”

“Nothing,” Dean said, biting back a curse.

“Let me get my laptop,” Sam said. “Maybe we can track him by GPS.”

Dean shook his head. “Phone’s off. No telling where he is.”

 

…

 

Despite the fact that he no longer needed to sleep, Castiel stopped in a motel room that night, not certain he was ready to make the drive back to the bunker without some serious thought first. He needed to sort out a plan for dealing with Gadreel and Metatron before speaking with Dean and Sam about it. Otherwise, they would come up with something, and it would doubtlessly be reckless. 

The lights started to flicker as soon as he walked in, and the television popped on. He tried to turn it off, but it just flashed back on to display a title screen, then young woman typing on a tablet.

"Sometimes, you need a break from the hustle and bustle of city life. Hashtag ‘amiright,’” she said, her voice thick and overacted. “Sometimes, you need hashtag casaerotica. Casa erotica.”

Castiel frowned at the screen. “That’s inappropriate,” he commented, wondering if he should try turning it off again.

He watched as the camera panned to the women’s heeled shoes and legs as she got up to answer the door. The man behind it was very familiar.

“Hello. Remember me, bucko?” Gabriel said, before ripping a fake mustache off his lip.

“Gabriel,” Cas said.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes,” the archangel said with a saucy grin before snapping his fingers. The TV went black, and Castiel heard the displacement of air as he manifested behind him.

_Gabriel,_ Castiel thought, turning around slowly. Just as Sam had said, but why was he here? Why come to Cas like this?

“I need your help, brother,” Gabriel said as soon as Cas turned enough to see him.

Sure enough, the archangel looked exactly as Castiel had last seen him, with his short vessel, packing so much Grace into such a small package. Odd, though, that he no longer felt the dual nature of Gabriel’s adopted pagan power; had he lost that aspect of himself in death?

“I thought you were dead,” Castiel said, because he had. Despite Sam’s experience, he had not truly believed that Gabriel was truly back. Angels simply did not return from death; that was a purely mortal phenomenon.

“Please. You can’t take the trick out of the Trickster,” Gabriel said flippantly.

Castiel frowned. Something didn’t feel right here. “So, I assume you faked your own death?” he asked, letting suspicion color his voice.

“And I assume you weren’t let into Mensa while I was gone,” Gabriel quipped back.

“Where have you been?” Castiel asked.

“Ohhh, you know hither with a side of yon,” Gabriel said glibly. “I was hiding, captain side eyes, in the safest place in the universe... heaven. But then you and the other two stooges had to go and ruin Christmas, now, didn't you?”

“Sorry,” Castiel answered simply.

 “Oh, cry me a river,” Gabriel sneered. “Look... I dropped, I hid, I finally watched _Downton Abbey_. But then, your BFF, Metatron, sent his minions out looking for me. Apparently, he thinks since I'm an archangel that I have extra juice.

“And that you’re a threat?”

“Yeah, but I got hurt in the fall, too, used most of my juice to get back into porn.” He paused, grimacing. “That came out wrong. So did that. Uh, the point is, I've been on the run. But then, a few weeks ago, somebody started playing my song.”

“The angel siren,” Castiel prompted.

“No. The horn of Gabriel... one of Dad's little party favors that I never got around to messing with. Metatron dug it up and started blowing, so I came out of hiding.”

The lights flickered again angrily, and Castiel could feel the warm resonance of a great power manifesting beside him. He looked over to see Gabriel – another Gabriel – staring at his clone. This one shone bright with gold and white Grace, laced with dark green and blue magic. The blue was new, but the green, white and gold were exactly as Castiel remembered them.

Looking between the two, how could he have possibly been fooled into thinking the comparatively small angel-white Grace in front of him could belong to Gabriel?

“Yeah, no,” the new Gabriel – clearly, the real Gabriel – said, glaring at the imposter. “It doesn’t even look like me,” he complained, pacing a circle around the other Gabriel, who was looking on dumbfounded. “I am so much hotter than that. Come on, let’s have some standards here!” 

He looked over at Castiel, who was just as speechless as the doppelganger. “You were convinced, weren’t you? Seriously, bro, with that flimsy wisp o’ Grace? And that funeral getup?” He rolled his eyes. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

He held up one hand and snapped his fingers, banishing the entire motel room around them, including the fake archangel. Suddenly, Castiel found himself sitting, tied to a leather chair in a well-appointed, old fashion office. The motel walls were replaced with three walls of built-in bookshelves, and one giant floor-to-ceiling window. In front of the window, Castiel saw a large, ancient mahogany desk, covered in papers except for where an old fashion typewriter sat, pristine in the chaos.

Metatron was sitting behind the desk, glaring darkly at Gabriel.

“Where are we?” Castiel asked, looking to his eldest brother.

“Heaven, baby bro,” Gabriel told him. “Don’t you recognize it? I mean, the new design sucks, but it’s still the old place underneath.”

“You’re supposed to be dead!” Metatron interrupted, shouting in the whiney, overly excitable voice Castiel had disliked since he met the angel. “What are you doing? You’re messing with the story!”

“Yeah, I don’t usually do what I’m supposed to, do I?” Gabriel asked him with a smirk. 

“But that’s not how things work,” Metatron protested. “Angels die, they disappear. That’s it – I would know. I literally wrote the book on them.”

“Guess Dad didn’t tell you everything, then, did he?” Gabriel taunted him.

“How did you get here?”

“Oh, it was a real bitch. I get back to earth, and suddenly all flights home were cancelled, and the wait was just a nightmare.” He rolled his eyes. “Do you really think I’m telling you?” Gabriel looked down at his fingernails as though he was bored. “Now, about this spell you’ve put on Heaven….” He looked up at Metatron, eyes suddenly deadly serious, “Lift it. Now.”

Metatron started chuckling at that, a low, cold sound in his chest. “I don’t think so. You see, I control things up here now.”

“Is that so?” Gabriel asked, drawing out the words and stepping forward to loom over the Scribe.

“I’m afraid it is,” Metatron told him with a self-indulgent smile. “You see, archangels are the old guard. God’s favorites, sure, but what has God said to anyone recently? He’s gone, and we’ve got a new God.”

“You know, far be it from me to tell anyone they have a Napoleon complex,” Gabriel said, glancing down at his own small stature. “But I think I’ve gotta make an exception here. Do you know how messed up you sound?”

“What?” Metatron asked. “Didn’t you go off and turn yourself into a god once?”

“Demigod,” Gabriel corrected. “A lot more fun that way. You get laid _way_ more often.” He looked Metatron over pointedly. “Yeah, something I’m sure you know nothing about. Oh, and _I_ never turned against my family. Not while I had a choice.”

“No, not as a god – it took being an angel to do that,” Metatron said with mock concern.

 “It was Lucifer or the world,” Gabriel snapped.

 Metatron rolled his eyes, unimpressed. “Yeah, yeah, self-righteous archangels – that’s an original script.”

“Drop the spell, Metatron,” Gabriel repeated.

“Are you going to make me?” Metatron asked.

Castiel looked on in amazement as Gabriel sent a precise bolt of green and gold power at Metatron. Angels almost never used their Grace like that; Grace was designed to power sigils and spells, not be tossed around like a weapon. This was a pagan power, Castiel realized in awe.

A wall of purple-white flame – Grace-like, but somehow not – flashed up to surround Metatron. It was wholly separate from Metatron’s Grace, and yet somehow connected to him.

Gabriel’s bolt didn’t even hit it; it crackled and exploded short of its target. From the deflated look on his face, Gabriel realized what happened, but Metatron didn’t seem to notice. The scribe laughed dryly and gloated, “See? Like I said, new God, new power.”

Gabriel frowned, then puffed up with bravado. “Fine, I’ll let you play house for a while. I have things to do earthside. Castiel and I will see you later.”

“You’re not taking Castiel anywhere,” Metatron challenged.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Really, sport? You want to do this now?”

Slowly, the archangel began to unfurl six huge, golden wings, each one blindingly bright and radiating power – even more magnificent now, when none of the angels except for Metatron had wings anymore. Castiel couldn’t help staring as they spread, taking up the room and then some, very literally pushing walls and ceiling out of their way as they stretched. 

Gabriel leaned over the desk, each wing looming menacingly over Metatron. Sparks of ethereal gold started dancing over each one as they crackled with the archangel’s power.

Metatron looked up at them in silent shock, staring with just as much awe as Castiel felt. Even in heaven, it wasn’t often that an archangel showed his wings, and Gabriel’s had not truly been seen by his brethren in millennia. Even Metatron, warped as he was, wasn’t immune to their glory.

“I thought so,” Gabriel said after a moment of silence. “Come on, Cas,” he said, resting a hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

Gabriel beat his wings once, all six in perfect, beautiful synchronization, and they were back on earth.

 


	11. Reunion

Dean was working himself to exhaustion, trying his damnedest not to worry about Cas, though he had been gone without word for more than two days now. Sam was researching – looking into news stories and blogs around the area Cas was last heard from – while Dean called some contacts, trying to dig up whatever he could find.

Their contact list had grown depressingly short, he realized. When he ran out of new contacts and tired of calling the same voicemail boxes – and really, where _was_ Garth? – he began looking for new summoning and location spells in the Men of Letter’s archives. Of course, the Men of Letters knew precious little about angels, but it was better than not doing anything, and kept him from jumping into his car and wasting gas and time searching with no real direction.

He put his files down and sighed before looking up to his brother.

“Find anything?” Sam asked, not looking up from his laptop.

“Nothing,” Dean admitted.

“Do you think we should take a break? We can get what we can from that demon down there, get some rest – maybe some new news will be posted by morning?”

“No way,” Dean told him. “We’re not interrogating that bitch without Cas.”

Sam glanced up, worried look on his face. Dean knew exactly what he was thinking, and he didn’t want to hear it. “I’m gonna get a beer. Do you want one?”

Sam shook his head. “No thanks.”

Dean stood up, sending a silent prayer to his best friend as he did so. _Hey Cas? I think this has gone on long enough, buddy. Time to give us a call, or get your feathery ass back to the bunker._

“How many times do we have to discuss the proper language for prayers, Dean?” Cas’s voice, coming from just behind him, was tinged with amusement.

Dean pivoted around, eyes wide. “Cas!” The angel was just a few inches away from him, so he automatically gathered him into a tight hug. He was surprised when the angel hugged him back, arms automatically coming up to envelop him.

 He could hear his brother talking behind Cas, but he tuned Sam out, instead concentrating on the solid form of his angel. He had been so worried…so pissed…so – so much he couldn’t say. Castiel picked up on it though – of course he did, this was _Cas_ – and tightened his grip, physically and metaphorically supporting Dean for a moment.

 

…

 

Sam watched Dean worriedly as he walked toward the kitchen, hoping his brother wasn’t going to drink too much, or go out alone and search aimlessly for Cas, or do any number of things that would just make the situation worse. And then he started, shocked as Castiel materialized in front of Dean.

He blinked at them for a moment, not looking away until Dean hugged Cas. It was too intimate a moment, and Sam didn’t want to intrude.

That was when he saw Gabriel, solid and real, leaning against a bookshelf and sucking on a lollipop, watching the scene unfold between Cas and Dean.

“Gabriel?” he asked, surprised. He stood up and took a couple of steps to get a better look at the archangel. He didn’t seem as exhausted as he had in Sam’s dream – he looked good, actually. Restored. “What are you doing here?”

“How you doin’ kiddo?”  the archangel asked instead of answering. He pushed himself away from the bookshelf and walked toward Sam, circling him to get a good look. “Already going out and doing your best to undo all my hard work?”

Sam couldn’t help the quirk of a smile that stretched his lips. “Something like that. I’m good though. Thanks.”

Dean must have noticed them, because Sam could heard him talking to Cas, even though he was trying to keep his voice low.

“Cas,” he asked, now a step back and looking over the angel’s shoulder at Gabriel, “What is he doing here?”

Castiel took a step back and looked back and forth between them as he explained, “Metatron had me captive in Heaven. Gabriel took care of the situation and flew us back here.”

“Metatron?” Dean asked. “Why?”

“We don’t know,” Castiel told him. “We left too soon.”

“Sorry Deano,” Gabriel said. “We forgot to stick around for the maniacal villain speech.”

“It’s Dean” Dean snapped. “And what are you doing here – what’s your angle?” Sam could see suspicion clear in every line of his body.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m here for my baby brother,” Gabe said, a teasing smile in his voice.

“What do you want with Cas?” Dean asked. Sam bit his tongue, not about to tell his brother that he was being played by an archangel.

“What do you think?” Gabriel asked archly.

In a flash Dean’s hand was at Cas’s hip, grabbing for his angel sword. Cas’s hand flew down to hold Dean’s wrist, preventing him from threatening Gabriel with it.

Gabriel was laughing silently, clearly pleased with himself. “Really, you’re just too easy,” he said. “I’m here cause I was getting Cas out of a rough spot. Calm down, there, soldier.”

“Why should we trust you?” Dean asked.

Gabriel rolled his eyes dramatically. “Let’s see….the last three times you’ve heard from me.” Gabriel held up three fingers counting them off one by one. “I saved your angel – you’re welcome, by the way. I saved your brother from perpetual occupation by a giant tool, and healed his wounds.” He turned his head to leer cartoonishly at Sam. “Nice work, if I do say so myself. Oh, yeah – and I _died for you_. Think that’s enough?”

Dean shut his mouth, looking to Sam.

Sam shrugged. “He’s right,” he said at length. “If nothing else, he doesn’t seem to be working against us.”

“But can we trust him?” Dean asked.

“Oh, come on! I want the same thing you kids do: a world without Metatron and his obnoxious god complex. Tell you what, you boys have a pow-wow, figure yourselves out, deal with your angst or whatever, and when you’re ready? Give me a prayer. I might show up,” Gabriel said. He turned back toward Sam. “Actually, _you_ send me a prayer. You’re more fun.”

“Wait!” Sam said, reaching out to stop the archangel from snapping his fingers – though he knew that wouldn’t actually stop an angel from flying away. Gabriel’s fingers were warm and yielding beneath his own, and Sam could almost imagine the Trickster was human.

Gabe looked up to where their hands met. “Aww, Sam-bear! I’m touched.”

Sam pulled his hand away as if burned. He clenched his hand in a fist and gave Gabriel a pleading look. “Two minutes?” he asked

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He looked around. “I always wanted a chance to go through the Letter-boys’ place. Wonder what they have on me…”

“Don’t touch anything,” Dean told him.

Cas threw Sam a consoling look of shared frustration before turning to Dean, dropping his wrist. “I will handle Gabriel. Talk to your brother.”

“Just a sec,” Sam said, forcing a smile at Gabriel.

Sam let Dean lead the way to the kitchen, scowling the entire time. “Great job, Dean,” he hissed when they were far enough away that the angels would at least pretend they were out of earshot. “The strongest angel alive wants to help us out and you want to get rid of him.”

“What?” Dean said, pacing the length of the kitchen. “You trust him, Sam? You honestly think he’ll help, no strings attached?”

“He did for the apocalypse, didn’t he?” Sam asked.

“So what? You think you know his motives? This is the Trickster we’re talking about.”

“We could at least ask what’s in it for him,” Sam argued. “Why can’t you just once trust someone enough to ask a question instead of making accusations?”

“And why are you so quick to trust anyone?” Dean snapped.

And that hurt. That was too close to Sam’s past – a long history that still felt raw and open. He snapped, lashing out at his brother.  “You know what, Dean? Fine,” Sam said. “We’ll do this your way. We’ll take on Metatron and Abaddon alone – three against the world, right? – and it’ll be a miracle if we all survive. Because you can’t open your mouth and ask for help!”

He stalked toward the door. “Let’s get to it then,” he continued darkly. “Don’t we have a demon to interrogate? Wouldn’t want to miss the information that could give us the drop on Abaddon, right? We’ll just tell Gabriel to leave, and then go back to trying to save the world alone.”

“Sammy, wait,” Dean said, defeat clear in his voice. Sam turned around to see an obviously distressed Dean; finally his words had gotten through to his brother. “Fine, we can hear him out.”

“Seriously?” Sam asked.

“Yes, seriously,” Dean said. “Contrary to popular belief, I am not a total idiot. I can see when the tactical advantage of having an archangel around could be useful.” He gave a rueful laugh. “I guess I should thank the guy who made sure you get to keep being a pain in my ass.”

Sam rolled his eyes, the fight going out of him.

Dean dropped his head into one hand, running a finger through his short hair. “So what now?”

“I guess we go talk to him,” Sam said with a shrug, crossing his arm over his chest.

Dean straightened up and shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the whole thing. Sam followed him back into the library, watching his older brother like he was about to change his mind and do something extremely stupid. Which, to be fair, was exactly what Sam expected him to do.

“So what’s the verdict?” Gabriel asked as they walked in. He was sitting on a library table, legs dangling comically.

“How?” Dean asked, almost civilly. “Why did you pretend to be dead, and why are you back now?”

Gabe pressed his lips together and looked between Sam and Dean. “I was dead,” he said at last.

He held up a hand when Dean started to protest. “Ah, ah, ah, let me talk. I _was_ dead, but angel deaths are nothing like we thought.” He paused, looking at Castiel. Cas was staring at him, eyes wide. Sam understood; Cas felt so guilty for all the deaths he caused in Heaven. He craved absolution as much as Sam did, if not more.

Gabriel put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and continued, talking to him alone now. “When we die, we go nowhere.” He pursed his lips and tilted his head, looking for the right words. “We go to a place between all of the somewheres – maybe beyond them. It’s where souls are made and kept before birth.  The angels there call it the Void.”

“Like Heaven for humans?” Sam asked hopefully.

“Kind of like a really, really, really boring afterlife – or at least, that’s the best way for you to understand it,” Gabriel nodded.

“How did you escape?” Castiel asked.

“I tricked a dragon into letting me steal her power,” Gabriel explained with a blasé shrug, dropping his hand from Castiel.

“I saw that…” Sam said, realization dawning on him. “When Gadreel took over, when we were fighting the Wicked Witch with Charlie and Dorothy! That’s – that’s where I went.”

“So you _can_ draw conclusions from experience! There’s hope for you yet,” Gabriel teased lightly, clapping his hands at Sam.

Sam glared at him. Now was not the time to bring up the Trickster’s past ‘lessons.’

“So how did you get here? And why help us out?” Dean asked, still suspicious. “And why haven’t angels come back before?”

“You see, I’m an _archangel_ ,” Gabriel said, drawing the last word out emphatically. “And the first to actually die. I was the first one strong enough to use the dragon’s power.”

“The dragon. You still have its power,” Castiel pointed out, eyes taking on an unfocused haze as he looked somewhere beyond Gabriel.

“Guilty as charged,” Gabriel said, throwing out his hands, palms out, as if to show they were empty.

“It’s – ” Cas paused, frowning. “It’s incredible. What dragon did it come from?”

 “Ammut,” Gabriel told him. Apparently that was all Cas needed to hear, because his eyes widened even more and he nodded his head mutely.

“It let me make a gate between worlds,” the archangel explained. “So I ended up back here.”

“How many passed through it?” Sam asked, now absolutely convinced that all his visions had been true. 

“Who said any of the others even could –?”

“How many?” Sam asked again, cutting Gabriel off.

Gabe gave him a hard look but nodded. “Seventy-five, including me,” he said at last.

“Seventy – ” Castiel murmured. “Who?”

“Friends,” Gabriel told him. “Mostly. Anna and Balthy have been keeping things together.”

“Balthazar? You trust him?” Dean asked. Sam remembered him – he had betrayed Castiel years ago, during Heaven’s civil war.

Gabriel let out a laugh. “Of course not. But he does keep things interesting.” He looked back at Castiel. “We’ll go over the whole roster later.”

Castiel nodded. “I’ll hold you to that, brother.”

“I’m sure you will,” Gabe told him.

“So what?” Dean asked. “You’re back on Earth with seventy-four newly restored angels? What’s the catch? What are you doing with them?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Wish I knew,” he said, almost somberly. “I figure I get rid of Metatron, they can all skedaddle back to Heaven.  _And_ I get the bonus of delivering comeuppance to Heaven’s biggest toolbag.”

“And then what?” Castiel asked. “The angels – they need a leader. An archangel.”

Gabriel shook his head and hopped down from the table. “No can do, Castarino.  This archangel’s a free agent. I don’t lead.”

“They need someone to unite under,” Castiel insisted. “They are – unskilled – at leading themselves.”

“Then maybe they should learn,” Gabriel said.

“So that’s it?” Dean asked. “You just want to deal with Metatron, then you’re gone?”

“That’s the plan,” Gabriel confirmed.

“Why did you stick around?” Sam asked, genuinely confused. “You could have gone back into hiding, left them alone as soon as you got back. Hell, you didn’t even need to bring them with you!”

“They’re my siblings,” Gabriel explained simply, taking Sam by surprise. He should have expected the answer, he realized. Gabriel had only ever wanted peace in his family; it had defined the entirety of his past life; why wouldn’t it be the premise of this one?

Gabriel nodded minutely at him, and Sam had the feeling the archangel had been reading his thoughts. He frowned at that.

“And you want to work with us to get to Metatron?” Dean asked.

Gabriel started walking around the tables, idly playing with some papers that had been left out on one. “Way I see it, my biggest mistake last time was underestimating you and buying into your insanity too late in the game. Sure I helped, but I died in the process.” He looked up and directly into Sam’s eyes. “I don’t like making the same mistakes twice.”

Dean sat down and rested his head in his hand, elbow propped up by a table.  “I think I need a drink,” he muttered. He looked up at Gabriel. “Ok, then, any idea where to start? Because between Metatron and Abaddon, we’ve been hitting nothing but dead ends.”

“Abaddon?” Gabriel asked. “The demonic cretin?”

“Sounds about right,” Sam confirmed.

“Well, damn,” Gabriel said. “I thought she was dead.”

“Guess it’s going around,” Dean deadpanned.

Gabriel looked up at him with a wry grin, not at all perturbed by Dean being Dean. “Guess so.”

“So. Plan?” the older Winchester asked again.

“My Horn,” Gabriel said. “Gadreel’s using it to gather angels. I don’t know why.”

“To bring them to his side,” Castiel informed them. “Or to kill them if they refuse.”

Gabriel’s eyes went wide and hard. “To _what?”_

“He’s gathering angels and promising they can come back home if they serve him. He slaughters those who refuse,” Castiel explained.  Sam could see the weariness, and the guilt in his eyes.

“Using _my_ Horn?” Gabriel asked. His voice was low, dangerous, and Sam could almost feel his power, barely constrained vibrating around them.

“It would appear so,” Castiel said, calm and certain. His lack of concern about Gabriel’s anger reassured Sam.

“This ends,” Gabriel said decisively. “He’s been perverting the spell – using dead griffin feathers to power it – and now he’s killing angels with it. No more. We start with that.”

“How?” Dean asked.

“My Horn. I get my hands on the real thing again, the symbol’s useless to anyone unless I give them the power,” Gabriel explained.

“Where is it?” Sam asked.

“Eden.” He smirked. “I bet Gadreel’ll love hearing about me sneaking in there, too. Just like old times.”

“You can get in?” Castiel asked. “You’re sure?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Please. Of course I’m sure. Do you remember who’s guarding it these days?”

Castiel nodded. “The griffins were never the same after you died,” he said sadly.

“Then they’ll be glad to see me back,” Gabriel told him.

“Griffins?” Dean asked. “Like the monsters?”

“They’re only monsters if you hunt them,” Gabriel said warningly. “They’re mine; they’re loyal to me and Dad. They protect my Horn.”

“How long will it take to get it?” Sam asked.

“A day, maybe two. Eden’s a tricky spot to get to these days, even for me,” Gabriel told them. “I have to check in with the others, too, make sure they’re ok.”

“How –” Dean began.

Gabriel grinned impishly. “I know all the back doors to Heaven. I can get in.”

“We still need to interrogate that demon,” Sam reminded Dean. “Tomorrow. We’ll figure out what we can, reconvene when Gabriel gets back.”

Gabriel nodded. “Looks like you’ve got a place to start. I’ll be on my way.”

He looked at Castiel, small grin on his face. “Wanna come with? I’m sure there’s some angels you’ll want to see.”

Castiel frowned, and shook his head. “Not yet – I feel some of them may need…time, before they see me again.”

“Aww, don’t be like that! Everyone’s dying to see you.  You’ll be the belle of the ball out there.”

Sam felt another twinge of sympathy for his friend as Castiel lowered his head, no longer looking Gabriel in the eye. “No, Gabriel. Too much has happened since you were on Earth.” He closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath that he didn’t need – stalling as he changed tactics, Sam realized. “I will see them soon enough, but my place is here with the Winchesters.”

“Suit yourself,” Gabriel said with a shrug. “Sayonara, kiddos. I’ll see you in a few.”

He spared one more look at Sam, winking when he caught his eye. Then he snapped his fingers and disappeared.

Dean stood up, running a hand through his hair. “Well, that was something.”

“It was good,” Sam said after a minute. “We might have a shot here.”

Dean looked at him, surprised. “Really? Are you sure about this Sammy?”

Sam frowned. “Not really – I’m not exactly known for placing my trust in the right people, but –” he shrugged. “There’s no reason to think this is a trick.”

“Except the fact that he’s the Trickster,” Dean interrupted.

Sam ignored him. “And at the very least, it’s nice to have the big guns on our side for once.”

“I agree with Sam,” Castiel said slowly. “Though, I don’t think we should rely too much on my brother’s power.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know,” Cas admitted, frowning. “He used his Grace against Metatron, but it didn’t work. Something went wrong. I’m not sure why.”

Sam shook his head. “We’ll keep an eye out,” he said, not entirely certain what they could do as humans, but not sure how else to respond.

“One more problem for the pile,” Dean said, resigned.

It had been too good to be true, Sam decided. Nothing could ever be easy. The only archangel they could have on their side was one with his own problems.

 

…

 

Sam was exhausted when he finally made his way to his room that night. Between worrying about Cas, then trying to figure things out with Gabriel, it had been one of the most stressful days since the Trials, and he was ready to melt into his bed.

Unfortunately, his bed was already occupied. An unapologetic Trickster was sitting against the pillows, frowning at a Sudoku book and chewing the end of a pen.

“It’s gonna explode in your mouth if you keep doing that,” Sam warned him casually. “I’d rather not have ink all over my bed.”

Gabriel looked up and gave him a wry grin. “Spoilsport,” he teased.

Sam rolled his eyes and toed his shoes off. “What are you doing here? I thought you had work to do.”

“I do,” Gabriel said, putting the book and pen down on the nightstand. “But I wanted to check in on your first, kiddo. Make sure you’re really all right, and not just saying that for your brother’s sake.”

Sam afforded the archangel a small smile. “I’m fine. Thanks, really – you did a good job on me.”

Gabe looked him over, somewhere between concerned and leering. “What can I say? I’m good at what I do,” he said with a wink.

“Ha, ha,” Sam said sarcastically. He leaned against the doorframe, wondering how long he would have to wait to get into his bed.

“So you think big bro will come around to my side?” he asked. “He didn’t seem too pleased to see me.”

“I’m not sure I care what Dean thinks,” Sam said honestly, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice. “He’s the reason we’re in this mess. At least with Abaddon.”

“That so?” Gabriel asked.

Sam nodded. It was weird, with Gabriel here in the flesh, Sam felt as comfortable as he had in his dreams. After a moment, he relaxed with a sigh and let himself explain. “If he hadn’t stopped the Trials – the ones I was going through, to close the Gate to Hell – we wouldn’t have the demon problem at all anymore.”

Gabriel looked a bit surprised. “Why did he stop them?” he asked.

Sam pressed his lips together, unsure of how he should answer it. “He – well, he didn’t think I could make it through them. Not alive, at any rate.”

“And you think he was wrong?” Gabriel asked.

“No,” Sam said with a shake of his head. “They would have – I mean, I would have finished them, but I wouldn’t have seen the results.”

Gabriel let out a small huff. “Damn, Sasquatch, of course he stopped them! Even if you two weren’t pathologically co-dependent, you can’t blame him.”

“Why not?” Sam asked, really wanting to know Gabriel’s answer.

“He’s your brother,” the Trickster said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You two faced down Heaven and Hell for each other. Of course he’s going to save you.”

Sam rolled his eyes. Brothers. It always came down to that, even when Sam wanted to make the choice to do what was right himself.

“I would have done the same thing,” Gabe told him softly. “For Michael or Raphael, or even Lucy. Especially before I knew about the Void.”

“Really?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, of course,” he said, half shrugging, though Sam thought his eyebrows moved more than his shoulders in the gesture.

“That’s why you’re not leaving the angels,” Sam said, remembering their earlier conversation.

“Pretty much,” Gabriel agreed. “Listen, I know you don’t want advice – least of all from me – but I’m the archangel here, so I’m gonna give it: _let it go_. Your brother was being your brother. You used to like that about him.”

Sam let out a humorless laugh. “I’m not sure that was ever true.”

“Alright, at least you understood it,” Gabriel amended. “And you know what? You’re alive, you have an archangel hanging around, and you’re going to be able to do a lot more good than you would have dead.”

Sam sighed. “I – it was my chance for atonement,” he said regretfully. “After everything that happened…”

“Hey, listen to me,” Gabriel said, getting off the bed and moving toward Sam. “No, wait,” he said when he found he had to strain his neck to make eye contact. He took Sam’s shoulders in his hands and directed him to sit on the bed. Gabriel stood in front of him, arms crossed, where he could look down at Sam’s face. “Better. Now, listen to me, Winchester. I was the Angel of Judgment, remember? No more talk of atonement from you, because you’ve paid your dues a hundred times over by now.”

“But – ”

“No buts,” Gabriel told him seriously. He reached out and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Just think about it. Maybe forgive your brother. It’ll make this whole Metatron/Abaddon thing a lot easier on everyone.”

Sam nodded, agreeing only to think on it. “Okay,” he said.

Gabriel gave him a wicked smile. “You know, this is a nice view, Sasquatch. I could climb you like this.”

Sam felt his eyes bug out of his head, and he could feel a hot blush rise up from his chest. “You – no. Stop it!”

“Aww, what’s wrong, can’t take a complement?” Gabriel asked. And yeah, the archangel was flirting with him.

Sam tried rolling his eyes, though he was sure it wasn’t convincing. He tried to distract him, strained as his voice may be. “Don’t – don’t you have work to do?”

Gabriel looked him over knowingly and laughed one more time before meeting his eye. “Of course. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a Horn to claim. Think on what I said.” He snapped his fingers, and was suddenly gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, this thing has almost 30k words posted. And only 50k written. I should get on that - I've been stuck at chapter 16 for like 3 weeks. 
> 
> Maybe some love would help? I'm not sure if anyone's keeping up with this, but I'd love to hear what you think if you are!


	12. Demons, Griffins & Angels

 

The next morning, Sam was up early. He was finally feeling up to running a mile or two before starting his day, and he wanted to take advantage of the cool morning air.

He took the time to think – something he reluctantly realized he didn’t do often enough in their reactionary lifestyle. Mostly he thought about Dean. ‘Saving’ Sam. Saving him for what?

Sam had lost all of his plans and dreams when Jess and then their father had died. The moment he and Dean became fugitives, almost a decade ago, and again when they had been declared dead after Lillith’s rampage, he had known with exacting clarity that he would never go back to school, or become a lawyer. He had accepted his death at the apocalypse, and had been on autopilot since – surviving but never really living. Not for any sort of future or anything. Even his time with Amelia had been little more than a way to escape his past, and nothing like a new life.

Redemption had been his dream after that. Dean had taken even that away.

But what if Gabriel was right? Cas had said that the archangel wasn’t completely up to snuff, power-wise, but he was still an incredibly powerful ally, with more on his side. Angels – angels who had wings and their full Grace, allied _with_ them instead of against them. They could certainly do more good than they had before. Maybe find another way to close the Gate to Hell, or deal with the demons.

Dean hadn’t known that when he stopped the Trials, or let Gadreel in. But it wasn’t any worse than the things Sam had done. Drinking demon blood, opening Lucifer’s Cage….nothing Dean did even came close. Not by a long shot.

But if he accepted that, and if they could find another way to keep demons from humans, where would that leave Sam? After everything, how could he possibly have a new plan, one where he lived in the end? What would that even look like?

He didn’t think too long on the last part of what Gabriel said – that he didn’t need atonement. That was a paradigm shift he wasn’t prepared for, and one he was still pretty certain he didn’t deserve.

But Dean – he thought maybe he could forgive Dean.

He remembered a while ago, when he had told his brother that they both needed some fun. Maybe he had been on the right track then.

By the time he got back to the bunker, it was late enough that Dean should be up. After a quick shower, he headed up to the kitchen to find his brother.

Instead he found Castiel in the library on his way there.

“Hey,” he said, interrupting the angel as he was sorting through a pile of books. “What’s up?”

“It seems that the Men of Letters were negligent in their study of archangels,” Castiel told him.

“More likely, they never encountered them,” Sam said. “You probably know more than any of them could have.”

Cas nodded and made an affirmative noise.

“Any idea where Dean is?” Sam asked. “We need to get going with that demon downstairs.”

“He’s in the garage, working on the Imapala,” Cas told him.

Sam raised an eyebrow, wondering if Dean didn’t know they had more important things to tend to.

Cas either read his expression or his mind, because he said, “He said he needed some time to think. We’ll interrogate the demon after lunch.”

“Alright, sounds good,” Sam said, agreeably. He couldn’t blame his brother.

And he thought he’d use the time to make sure Dean knew things were better between them. He put a plan together in his head as he ate breakfast.

 

…

 

Dean hated this part of the job.

He stood in the bunker archive/dungeon room, in front of the short brunette demon they had captured earlier that week. Miranda, she called herself, but she refused to say anything else.

He looked back at Sam and Cas, both standing in the shadows, backing him up, before taking Ruby’s knife out of the sheath he had strapped it into on his hip.

“Now,” he said, catching the demon’s hateful black eyes as he stepped toward her. “I want to know what Abaddon’s planning, and I don’t really care how I have to get it.”

She sneered at him. “Abaddon’s planning your demise. She already destroyed your family.” The demon cocked her head and made a pitying face, raising her voice in mock-sympathy. “Oh, yes, we heard all about that. Poor Henry and his abandoned child. No wonder his grandchildren grew up to be such disappointments.”

The words stung, even coming from a demon. Dean lashed out and grazed her leg with the knife – not enough to kill her, but enough to make sure she understood exactly what she was up against. He waited silently as she wailed in pain, steeling himself against the pity that sound should cause.

“I don’t need to hear about my family history,” Dean said conversationally when she quieted down. He started to pace in front of her, heels heavy on the cement floor. “Funny thing is, it’s my family. I already know it. I want to know about our future. What does Abaddon have planned for us?”

“She’ll kill me if I tell you,” the demon told him, face still distorted with pain.

“And I’ll kill you if you don’t,” Dean told her. And honestly, he’d kill her if she did, too, because that was the job. And _he_ was in charge of this part of the job, so he was good at it – if he could save Sam and Cas from one thing, this was it.

She made a vile, wet sound and spat at his feet.

Dean leaned over and applied the knife again, with just enough pressure to break the skin beneath her collarbone without coming close to her heart.

“Come on, sweetheart, I know you’re dying to tell me,” Dean said menacingly, even as his stomach turned. He wished he could save Sam and Cas from even seeing him like this, but they needed to be here. Again, he did what he had to for the job.

She looked him over, then glanced back to Sam and Castiel. “You won’t kill me if I help you?” she asked stiffly.

“We still have your King down the hall, and we captured him ages ago,” Sam told her as Dean eased up on the knife. “Draw your own conclusions.”

“Crowley? He’s no king. Abaddon rules Hell,” the demon told them.

“So what’s next? Taking over earth?”

The demon laughed humorlessly. “Hardly. Earth’s not worth the time, not when all the apes on it will end up in Heaven or Hell anyway. It’s more fun the way it is.”

“Then what’s she after?” Dean asked. He pressed the tip of the blade to the demon’s throat threateningly.

“Heaven,” she said, after a long pause. “With all you feathery do-gooders earthbound,” she explained, looking meaningfully at Cas, “it’s just begging for a new ruler.”

“How does she expect to gain entrance to Heaven when even we are closed off?” Cas asked urgently.

The demon rolled her eyes and pulled away from the knife as much as she could. Dean followed her back, leaning over her with the knife still at her throat. “She took over a Woman of Letters. And she’s the most powerful demon alive. She knows magic you couldn’t imagine.”

“The rituals,” Dean said knowingly. He looked back at the demon, eyes hard. “How?”

“I don’t know,” she said, just starting to panic as she realized she couldn’t get away from the knife. “Something about the blood of the righteous. I was never a witch – I didn’t understand more than that.”

“When’s the next one? And where?” Dean asked, satisfied that she was telling the truth.

“I don’t know!” she told him. He didn’t believe her this time.

He pressed the blade deeper into her throat, just barely catching and breaking the skin again. It was enough to elicit a scream from her.

“When and where?” he asked again, pitching his voice just a bit louder.

“Texas. Amarillo, Texas. At the new moon. Sunset,” she confessed. “Please – stop!”

Dean drew back the blade and looked at his brother and angel in askance. Sam nodded his head – that was all they needed to know, and he could end the bitch.

Castiel shook his head though, and stepped forward. He put a hand on the arm that held Ruby’s blade, stopping any motion to kill the demon.

Instead, Cas reached out his own hand and burned her out with holy light. Dean let his arm and head drop in unison, thankful that the angel had spared him that.

“So, Texas,” Sam said, as though nothing had happened. Which made it easier, truthfully.

“The new moon is only two days away,” Cas told them.

“Armarillo is a half-day’s drive,” Dean pointed out, doing the calculations in his head. “We have some time.”

“Alright, rest up, then,” Sam said. “Maybe we can find something about whatever spell Abaddon’s doing in the library.”

“Perhaps Gabriel will know more,” Castiel said. “He’ll be back before we have to go.”

 “Sounds good,” Dean said. “I’ll be in my bunk”

He turned around and left them to deal with the remains of the demon, knowing they would understand. He just needed some time to decompress after that.

He didn’t get down the length of the hall before Cas caught up with him. “Dean, I wanted to talk to you.”

He paused, weighing his options. He knew that the angel would wait if he asked, but he thought perhaps he wanted company right now. At least, he wanted _Cas’s_ company.

“What’s up?” he asked, opening the door to the stairwell and letting Cas through first.

“I’m concerned,” Cas told him heading up the stairs. “Did you notice the words she used to describe the ritual?”

“Yeah, the blood of the righteous, right?” Dean asked, following him.

The angel paused and looked down at Dean from a couple steps up. “You are the Righteous Man, Dean,” Cas said, clearly annoyed. “She would be particularly interested in _your_ blood.”

Dean shook his head. “Not anymore,” he said, brushing past Cas and continuing toward his room. “I mean, maybe a long time ago, but with everything I’ve done since then – I’m pretty sure ‘righteous’ is not the word for me.”

Cas hurried to catch up with him at the landing and put a hand on his elbow, stopping his movement and drawing his attention to the angel’s face. “It is, Dean. Do not doubt that.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. “Listen, I wanted to ask you: what happened with Bartholomew and his gang?”

Cas gave him a stern look that Dean knew to mean the conversation was not over, even if he was allowing him the subject change for now. He dropped Dean’s elbow and opened the door to the second sub-level before walking with him again. “It was – an unpleasant experience,” Castiel said deliberately. “Bartholomew wanted me to join him in uniting the angels. He seemed like a good leader, with a fair plan. But he wanted me to kill an angel to prove my allegiance to him.”

“Did you?” Dean asked, pausing again.

Cas looked down at his feet. “I had to kill Bartholomew in order to leave,” he admitted. “The other angels were quick to name me as a new leader, and I tried to dissuade them of the notion.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Dean said, uncertain if he should offer the angel a hug. He knew how much Cas hated killing his own kind, how he loathed the increasing angelic death toll. And to be frank, Dean could use a hug after that interrogation.

He decided against it.  It wasn’t exactly a manly reaction. Instead he said, “We’ll figure this out. Once we deal with Metatron, we’ll find a way to unite the angels.”

Cas gave him a disbelieving stare, and Dean decided not to push it. Instead, he opened the door to his room and led the way in.

He stopped just a couple of steps in.

His room was pristine. Of course it was; he had been brought up in a military style, and he didn’t like clutter. Everything was exactly in its place, just as he had left it.

Except it was all wrapped in brown packaging paper.

Every single personal item – everything that made the place a home – was wrapped. His albums, his weapons, his porn – damn, even the picture of his mother! Who would _dare_ –?

“Gabriel!” he snapped.

He turned around, heading back down the hall toward the stairwell. “Where’s Sam?” he asked Cas, his tone just barely civil.

Cas tilted his head for a moment, and then said, “I don’t know, but I believe he was heading up to make dinner after cleaning up downstairs.”

Dean stalked down the hall and up the steps, Cas hot on his heels. “Dean,” he said placating, “is this really worth getting so upset about?”

Dean turned on his friend, one finger out and pointing at Cas for emphasis. “He touched my stuff, Cas. The _Trickster_ went into my room and touched my stuff. My mother’s picture!”

“Are you sure it was Gabriel?” Cas asked.

“Who else would it be? The day after he was here?”

Dean turned around and began walking again before Cas could respond.

Sam was, of course, not yet in the kitchen by the time Dean got there. But he didn’t want to search the bunker for him, so he burned his excess energy by pacing back and forth across the kitchen. Cas stood by the doorway, watching silently, but Dean ignored him.

A few minutes later, Sam came into the kitchen, looking more relaxed than he had any right to be.

“What’s up?” he asked when he saw Dean’s agitated state.

“Gabriel,” Dean said darkly. “Your pet archangel.”

“My – what?” Sam asked.

“The Trickster – who you were so quick to convince me to keep around – was in my room. In _my stuff_. What the Hell, Sam?” Dean snapped.

“Huh?  What did he do with your stuff?” Sam asked, brows furrowed.

“I don’t know. He wrapped it all in paper – cause he’s a damn child – and I don’t know what else. He touched my weapons, Sam. My _things_. What the Hell?”

He watched as Sam pressed his lips together, jaw set. “Did he do anything else?” Sam asked calmly after a minute. “Was anything missing?”

“I didn’t – ”

Dean stopped himself when he saw the corners of Sam’s lips twitch.

_The bitch._

“YOU did this?” he all but roared.

Sam broke, laughing hysterically. A real, joyful laugh. At Dean’s expense.

Dean had never expected to hear that sound from his brother again.

“Oh, it’s on,” Dean said, and he couldn’t help the small smile that was forming on his lips. “You’re asking for it.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Sam taunted him. It didn’t go over so well for him, though, as he was doubled over laughing, one hand on his knee to keep him upright and the other covering his mouth.

“Bitch,” Dean said.

“Jerk,” Sam countered. He stood up, still chuckling, and dried his eyes. “You really thought it was Gabriel?”

“What else was I going to think?” Dean asked. Because they hadn’t done this in eight years. Why would Sam start now? He had a thought. “Ground rules – no harming the Impala,” he told his brother. Just in case.

“No cutting my hair,” Sam countered. “Or shaving, burning, or damaging in any way.”

“And no angel help,” Dean replied.

Sam gave him a bitchface. “What? Why – Cas would be on your side in a heartbeat.”

“I’d actually rather stay out of this – thing,” Cas interrupted.

Dean looked up at his brother. “Yeah, and I bet Gabriel would just love to help you out. No way.”

Sam smirked in a way that told Dean he had indeed thought of that, and he knew he was caught. “Okay. Deal.”

“Now get on that dinner – I’m hungry,” Dean told his brother with a grin.

He should be angry – he should be _pissed_ – because now he had to head back to his room and unwrap all his worldly possessions. But somehow he wasn’t.

 

…

 

_Gabriel, we’re gonna need you here. As soon as possible. Abaddon’s after Heaven._

The silent prayer resonated through Gabriel as he travelled, and he could see through Sam’s eyes as Castiel killed the demon who had given them their information.

Although Sam stopped his prayer to start talking to the other hunters, Gabriel held onto the connection, stretching his awareness to watch the scene through Sam’s eyes.

Two days. That wasn’t much time. He amended his plans, now concentrating on getting back to the bunker as quickly as possible.

 

…

 

Gabriel decided to skip Wisconsin for a while and head straight to Eden. The kids could take care of themselves for a bit longer.

The location of Eden wasn’t well known, even to the angels. After Adam and Eve, Dad had made it roam the edges of Heaven and earth, half real and half not. It had been a rare exception when Joshua had let the Winchesters into the Garden, one God himself had asked for, and it wasn’t likely to happen again anytime soon.

The archangels could always find it though. They were tied to it, as the others weren’t. Gabriel more so, because that was where he had hidden his Horn.

The Horn. He hadn’t touched the thing in millennia. Swore he wouldn’t ever again, actually. Funny how time changes even angels.

He drifted to the gate somberly, not sure if he was doing the right thing, coming here. The next time he was supposed to play the Horn was during the Apocalypse – but that had been rewritten by the Winchesters. Something new needed to replace it.

Two dark figures guarded the gate, still and regal in their vigil. He crept behind one, knowing full well he was the only living being who could probably do that, and pulled its tail.

The griffin reared back and snapped at him with its great beak, but Gabriel was already backing around in front of him.

“Gabriel,” the other griffin intoned in her native tongue, a deep rumbling voice. “But you’re dead!”

“Halliya, could anything keep me down for long?” Gabriel asked in the same language. The griffins could understand – or even speak – human languages very well, but there was no need here.

“It might be better if it could,” Shrike, the male griffin, groused. His russet feathers were ruffled around his head in indignation.

“You’d get bored without a Trickster to watch,” Gabriel told him with mock-seriousness.

Griffins had always been Gabriel’s favorites. They were intelligent and cunning, and quite attached to their families, traits Gabriel admired. But more than that, they had been creatures of Heaven with the angels once, and they had been a constant presence in Gabriel’s youth. They had left during the first wars, unwilling to fight, and Gabriel had gone with them some time after.

They had protected his identity while he became a pagan demigod, and he had come to them more than once over the years when he needed a place away from Earth to hide from his brothers. In mythology, their penchant for guarding treasure came from God’s command that they guard Eden, but their heraldic significance came from their attachment to God’s Messenger.

There were times, in his past, when they were the only things keeping him from giving up entirely; this little clan of creatures who saw right through him. Them and the Norse Pantheon; there was never a dull moment with them.

“Trickster,” Halliya cooed happily, fanning out her golden wings. “Have you come to play tricks on us?”

“Always,” Gabriel told her, wagging his eyebrows. “Especially old Shrike here. He’s an easy target.”

For once, Gabriel was taken by surprise when the darker griffin pounced on him, sending him tumbling to the ground in front of the gate. “Easy target?” the griffin asked, batting at him playfully.

“Hey, what’s this? Do I deserve this?” he asked innocently, trying to push the griffin off with a laugh. “Halliya, tell him I don’t deserve this.”

Shrike dodged his hands and nuzzled him with his beak, almost cub-like. “I think it’s safe to say you deserve most things you get,” he said wisely.

Gabriel couldn’t help smiling as he wrestled with Shrike.

Yeah, these guys had been the only real family he had during his exile. He should have been quicker to come by and let them know he was alive.

It took a few minutes to get Shrike off him, but eventually the griffin calmed down and let Gabriel speak.

“I actually can’t stay and meet the whole family,” he told them apologetically. “I’ll come back another time for that – I promise – but right now I’m kinda pressed for time. I’m here for my Horn.”

Halliya jerked backwards in surprise, her head tilted inquisitively, much like Castiel’s. “Your Horn?”

“That’s what I said,” Gabriel said casually, as though they didn’t know the significance of that request.

“But –”

“Listen, I’ll explain it all later. Just – I’m not going to go start the Apocalypse or anything with it. I just need to make sure my brothers stop being dicks.”

“Is that always your responsibility?” Shrike asked.

“Apparently,” Gabriel said with a sigh. He looked at the gates longingly, knowing the beauty that lay beyond them, but also knowing he needed to get back to the Winchesters. If he went in, he probably wouldn’t leave again within their lifetimes.

“I’ll fetch it,” Shrike said knowingly.

He was off and flying before Gabriel could thank him. And as soon as he was, Halliya was up and inspecting him. She sniffed experimentally, as if to be sure it was really him.

“Not a fake, I promise,” he said, sending up a signature flare of power as he summoned a chocolate truffle and popped it into his mouth. It was cold, almost frozen, for some reason. He frowned. “Metatron’s the only one trying that, and he honestly sucks at it.”

“He’s the new troublemaker,” she said conversationally. “Isn’t that supposed to be your job?”

“Not like this,” Gabriel told her. “Me, I like to stir up trouble and make things interesting. He stole Heaven and the angels’ wings – I think he’s actually insane.”

The griffin nodded. “He’s been desecrating our dead. Or his people have been.”

“I know,” Gabriel said, putting a hand comfortingly on her beak. “That’s why I need my Horn. If I have it, he can’t use that spell anymore.”

“Good,” she said sweetly. Then her voice turned savage: “And let him know, if you see him, that angel or not, we will tear him to shreds if we meet him. Him or his minion.”

“If he doesn’t know that already, I’m not about to tell the lunatic anything. I’d like to see him faced with your justice,” Gabriel told her maliciously.

She opened her beak in a truly terrifying griffin-smirk. “I think I agree with you.”

Shrike screamed down at them as he flew back over the wall, a joyful battle cry. In one talon, he held the golden Horn Gabriel remembered.

He dropped it in front of Gabriel, bowing deeply before nudging the archangel with his head affectionately. It was nice to know someone had missed him.

“Thanks,” Gabriel said softly, kneeling down to gather up the Horn. It sang under his fingers, longing to be played.

He hid it away quickly, into the layers of magic and Grace around himself, where he could grab it easily if he needed it, but where it wouldn’t affect him.

“I need to –” He let the sentence die, gesturing futilely with one arm. He didn’t really want to leave them, but he had to get going, and quickly.

“We know,” Halliya told him. “We’ll see you soon.”

“Thanks,” he said again, not willing to commit to anything else.  He would see them, but he didn’t know when. And he was afraid anything else he might say would give away his affection for them.

Like they didn’t already know, he thought with a smile.

After a single beat of his wings, he was back in Wisconsin.

 

…

 

As predicted, Anael had the angels well in hand when he got back, early the next morning.

“Where were you?” she asked, flying out as soon as he materialized in front of their building. Two other angels were at the door, guarding it – Samandriel and Avenial, if Gabriel recognized them. Young angels, they made Gabriel feel old. Otherwise, the place was empty, desolate from the outside.

“Oh, you know, here and there,” he told her flippantly. “Messed around with Metatron, hung out with the Winchesters, visited Eden….”

“What happened to keeping a low profile?”

“The times they are a-changing, my friend,” he told her. “I somehow managed to do exactly what you wanted and ally us with the Winchesters.”

A smile crept across her face. “Really? We need to tell the others. They’ve been waiting for orders.”

“Nope, no orders,” Gabriel told her. “Not happening, sister.”

She gave him a sidelong look.

“I told you, I don’t lead,” he insisted.

“Then what are you doing now?”

“Getting things done,” Gabriel told her. “You’ll thank me later.”

“I’ll thank you when you give these angels some sort of hierarchy. Balthazar’s the only one flourishing here, and frankly that worries me.”

“Table it,” he told her sternly. “I’m only here to spread the word and bring you back with me. I need an angel or two for now; Castiel doesn’t have his wings, and I’m gonna backup saving the Winchesters from themselves.”

“They really haven’t changed?” she asked wryly.

“Their heads are only further up their own asses,” Gabriel confirmed. He shooed her off. “Go, talk to the angels. Set up someone to lead for now – Ezekiel knows what he’s doing – and get back here.”

Anael nodded and disappeared quickly, flying into the stone office building to find the highest ranking of the angels he’d brought back. Because even for a sweet girl like her, who had been human once, angels craved their hierarchies. Gabriel wondered how he had ever called that normal.

One of the guards made their way up to him tentatively. Samandriel. He liked the kid – he alone of the angels under Naomi’s command was quirky, and had the kind of spark Gabriel wanted to bring back to Heaven one day.

“Uh, Gabriel, sir?” Samandriel asked.

“No ‘sir’ here, just Gabriel,” the archangel said automatically. “Though if you want to get under Anna’s skin, call me Loki,” he continued with a wink.

“Uh, Gabriel,” Samandriel repeated, clearly caught off guard. Poor kid, he probably shouldn’t mess with him. “You’re going back to the Winchesters? And Castiel?”

“That’s the plan,” Gabriel said lightly, snapping up a lollipop for something to do with his hands. Dad, but this kid was just too earnest.

“I was – ” Samandriel paused. “I wanted to know if I could come with you. To the Winchesters.”

“Why, getting bored of this place already?” Gabriel asked.

Samandriel gave a small, uncomfortable grin. “I – actually, I wanted to speak with Castiel.”

“Cassie? Why?”

“He – uh, well, he was the one who killed me,” Samandriel told Gabriel gravely. Gabriel raised an eyebrow and Samandriel went on quickly. “He was under Naomi’s influence at the time – it wasn’t his fault. I – well, wanted to tell him that.”

Gabriel favored the younger angel with a small smile of his own. Seriously, he shouldn’t be surprised by his siblings being _decent_ , but he was.

“Sure, kiddo,” he said. “Just don’t get any ideas about vengeance or anything. That’s my shtick.”

Samandriel let out a nervous laugh, and Gabriel couldn’t stand it anymore. He was just too sincere, too shy. He snapped another lollipop into existence and handed it to the other angel.

“I don’t –”

“Lesson one of being a free angel,” Gabriel interrupted. “We don’t eat because we have to. We eat because it’s _awesome._ ” He popped the sucker into Samandriel’s mouth as he opened it to protest again.

The other angel raised his eyebrows in surprise, apparently enjoying the sweet. “Better,” Gabriel said.

Anael chose that moment to come back, another angel in a female vessel – Muriel – at her side.

“What are you doing?” she asked, looking at Samandriel with the lollipop and then suspiciously at Gabriel.

“Corrupting the youth,” Gabriel said with a grin. “Ready to go? Samandriel here’s coming with us.” He looked at Samandriel. “That’s a mouthful. We need a nickname for you, kid. You got any?”

Samandriel shook his head.

“We’ll figure one out then,” he said.

Anael looked to Muriel. “Change of plans. Take Samadriel’s watch. We’ll be back when we can.”

Muriel nodded, then walked primly back to the front of the building.

“Cya around!” Gabriel said to the two guards with a large wave of a hand. Instead of telling them their destination, Gabriel put his hands on Anael and Samandriel’s shoulders, then flew them there himself.


	13. Angels in the Bunker

Dean volunteered to cook lunch the next day. He was nesting again, Sam figured, and Sam wasn’t going to argue. He set himself up in the library reading while Dean showed Cas how to make ‘the perfect burger.’

Sam, for his part, was otherwise engaged. As his eyes drifted over the pages of an old book of demonic knowledge, he was preoccupied with Gabriel.

The archangel hadn’t answered his prayer yesterday, and hadn’t returned today. Part of Sam was worried that he wouldn’t be there in time for Abaddon’s ritual tomorrow.

Another part swore he had felt Gabe’s presence when he prayed to him. He was partial to that part; it made him feel unreasonably glad that he was somehow watching out for them, at least when Sam asked him to.

Who was this reborn Gabriel? And where did he belong in the Winchesters’ lives? Sam mulled over the question as he waited for lunch.

“Look alive, Sammy,” Dean suddenly called from the kitchen doorway, balancing three cups and a plate in his hands. Cas was right behind him, two more plates and a large bowl in his arms.

“I get table service too?” Sam asked his brother with a smirk.

“That’s enough from you,” Dean sneered, though he seemed to be in relatively high spirits. He put a plate and a glass of soda down in front of Sam.

Sam grinned at the meal: burgers and sweet potato fries – his brother was nice enough to substitute at least one somewhat healthy thing into their meal. Cas was putting down a bowl of salad, which Dean was pointedly ignoring. Sam reached for the tongs and shoveled some onto his plate.

“This isn’t poisoned, is it?” he asked suspiciously.

“Seriously, dude? Am I going to poison you the day before a major hunt? Grow up,” Dean told him.

Sam glared at Dean before carefully picking up a fry and putting it in his mouth.

It was delicious, seasoned with spices Sam didn’t recognize. When had Dean found the time to learn to cook like that?

 _Lisa,_ he realized with a pang of guilt.

“It’s good,” he told his brother.

“What did you expect?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head, unsurprised by his brother’s bravado.

He reached for his cola and took a large swig.

A large, painfully salty swig.

It tasted like a dry martini, but worse. Way worse.

Like olive brine. And fish.

His stomach turned, and he spit the soda onto the floor. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he might be sick.

“What the –” he managed before he had to spit again. He grabbed Dean’s glass, reasonably sure it was _actually_ cola, and took a tentative sip. When it turned out to just be Coke, he downed the whole thing.

“Dude, that was priceless,” Dean said, holding his stomach as he laughed. “Your face!”

“What _was_ that?” Sam asked, still thoroughly disgusted.

“Soy sauce and club soda,” Dean said, inordinately proud of himself. 

“ _What?_ ” Sam asked. “Seriously, are you trying to poison me?”

“I can assure you there was nothing poisonous in there,” Cas chimed in. Unhelpfully.

Sam put his head in one hand. Maybe a prank war wasn’t the best way to let his brother know he was considering forgiving him. His arguably sociopathic brother.

“That was disgusting,” Sam told him. “I’m getting a soda now. A real one. For me. If _you_ want anything from the kitchen, you can get it yourself.”

“Hey, I made you a burger!” Dean told him, as if that made anything better.

Sam turned and glared at him again.

Dean was still laughing as he walked into the kitchen.

 

…

 

Sam was in the gym punching out his anger – anger? No, he had been angry plenty of times before, and this didn’t even come close to that emotion. Annoyance – punching out his annoyance with his brother and planning his revenge three hours later.

The room was an antique: old, brown leather punching bags, single-setting stationary bikes without any electrical components, and an indoor track instead of treadmills. All the weights and benches were manual instead of machines. Sam liked the old fashion feel of it. He figured at some point they would want to update it, maybe fill the pool with new water so they could swim laps, but for now it was novel.

He was halfway through a set of punch kick combos when Gabriel appeared in front of the punching bag, leaning on it like Sam wasn’t about to punch him in the face.

It was too late to pull the punch, and Gabriel wouldn’t have been affected by it anyway. Still, Sam’s reflexes were quicker than his brain, and he redirected the punch without a thought, letting his first go through the air next to Gabriel’s face. The unexpected forward momentum pulled him off balance, and he wound up falling, almost right onto the archangel.

Gabriel caught him with a cupped hand on Sam’s bare chest. It looked impossible for a man that small to catch all of Sam’s weight on just his fingertips, and Sam was once again reminded of the vast power the archangel actually controlled.

“Nice reflexes there, Gigantor, but the follow-through could use some work,” Gabriel told him, helping him right himself.

Sam glared at him. “Did you really have to pop in right there?” he asked.

“No,” Gabriel said, grinning, “But I wanted to see how you’d react.”

“Did you think I’d hit you?” Sam asked.

Gabriel shrugged and stepped away from the punching bag. “Much as I’m sure everyone would enjoy the view, put a shirt on. You’ve got company upstairs.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m going to take a shower. I’ll be up in ten minutes.”

“Have fun,” Gabriel told him, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Sam let out a laugh, realizing it wasn’t worth being annoyed over the Trickster acting like a clown. “Go. I’ll meet you up there. Ten minutes.”

Gabriel disappeared in a flash. Sam realized that when he didn’t snap his fingers, he could hear the telltale sound of wings with his departure.

 

…

 

Dean was pacing around the library, explaining to Cas the ritual remnants he had found in Arizona in as much detail as he could remember when the angel froze.

It took Dean by surprise. The angel hadn’t exhibited that preternatural stillness since he had last spent long periods of time in Heaven, back before the Leviathans.

“Cas, buddy? You okay?” he asked.

“I believe we caught him by surprise,” a forgotten voice said, hinting at laughter.

Dean turned around, shocked. Anna Milton stood in the library, flanked by the little angel Cas had killed under Naomi’s command. He lost the Weiner Hut uniform and was now wearing jeans and a simple blue t-shirt. Dean noticed two small scars on his forehead: souvenirs from Crowley’s torture.

“Anael. Samandriel.” Cas said, his voice even rougher than usual. “How –?”

“Gabriel,” Anna said. She rushed across the room and wrapped her arm around the angel who had once been under her command in an entirely human gesture of affection. “Gabriel brought us back with him. Some of us, at least.”

“He said, but I didn’t believe him,” Cas confessed. His eyebrows furrowed and his mouth hung open in shocked confusion as he looked between the two.

“Hey, my turn with the lady,” Dean said with a flirtatious grin.

Anna turned and eyed him with a warning look, which didn’t have quite the desired effect when it was coupled with an indulgent grin. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged the angel.

He didn’t realize one less death would mean so much, when he had been responsible for so many, but seeing her here felt like forgiveness. With that thought, he gripped her tighter.

“Samandriel,” Castiel said, his voice broken.

“It’s ok, Castiel,” Samandriel said softly. “I asked Gabriel to bring me because I wanted to talk to you.”

Dean let Anna go and watched suspiciously as Cas followed Samandriel to the other side of the library, where they were talking softly. He didn’t like the angel that far away. He wasn’t sure if Cas would defend himself if Alfie suddenly decided he wanted revenge.

“Relax, Dean,” Anna told him. “He’s telling Castiel what he needs to hear. He knows it was Naomi’s fault.”

Dean frowned down at her, but stayed where he was. “Where’s Gabriel?” he asked.

“Right here,” the Trickster said, appearing in the center of the room. “Why, did you miss me?”

Den rolled his eyes. “Not likely.”

“Sure ya did,” Gabriel said. He snapped up a candy bar and took a bite.

Dean watched as Samandriel put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. Cas stiffened, saying something too low for Dean to hear, and Samandriel shook his head. He said something else, then gave Cas a hug. Castiel was too stunned to return it at first, but he slowly brought his arms up around his brother.

“It’s not polite to stare,” Gabriel reminded him obnoxiously.

Dean looked back at Gabriel with a scowl. “How did it go? Did you get the flute?”

“Horn,” Gabriel corrected, automatically. “And yes. I was going to wait until the whole class was paying attention to talk about it.”

“I’ll get Sam, then,” Dean said.

“No need. He’s on his way,” Gabriel told him.

Dean raised a questioning eyebrow, but didn’t ask how the archangel knew that. He probably didn’t want to know.

“How are you, Dean?” Anna asked, laying one hand on his shoulder.

“I’m good,” Dean said, mostly meaning it. “Peachy. How’s the land of the living?”

“Better, I think,” Anna said. “No apocalypse. The angels are free.”

“The angels are a mess,” Dean reminded her.

She smiled at him, hopeful. “But they’re free to be a mess, and they recognize it. They’re growing up.”

“If you say so,” Dean said.

He looked back at the other two angels. Cas was leading Samandriel back to the group. Cas looked lighter – less troubled than he had in a long time. If that was the effect Samandriel had on him, Dean decided he liked the guy.

“Alfie! Glad to see you’re back,” Dean said with a genuine smile.

“Alfie?” Gabriel asked. “What? I thought you didn’t have nicknames.”

“I don’t,” Samandriel said with a bitchface that could match Sam’s. “That was my vessel’s name.”

“Alfie,” Gabriel tried it on his tongue. “Al, Alf, Alfonzo….I like it! Consider yourself nicknamed, kiddo!”

Dean and Samandriel both rolled their eyes. Though Dean couldn’t help a bit of a smile as he did so.

“Now,” Gabriel said, sitting down and putting his feet up on a library table. “How’d the interrogation go?”

Dean frowned and sat down opposite Gabriel. “Bad news. Abaddon’s named herself the Queen of Hell, and is looking to expand.”

“Where?” Anael asked, taking a seat herself. Cas and Samandriel followed her lead.

“Heaven,” Dean told them. “She’s got some kind of ritual for it.”

“We don’t have much time,” Cas added. “She’ll try again tomorrow night.”

“Well then, we’ll just have to crash the party,” Gabriel said.

Sam walked into the room as Gabe spoke and stole a hug from Anna before taking a chair for himself. Dean knew his brother was just barely professional enough to leave the reunion until later. “One problem,” he pointed out. “She’s a Knight of Hell. We can’t kill her. Can you?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Please. Of course I can.”

Sam raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

Gabriel rolled his eyes and pulled his most put-upon face. “Archangel, remember? I’m _older_ than just about anything currently residing on Earth, Knights of Hell included. I used to play the holy avenger games with the bros, once upon a time. I’ve thinned their ranks a time or two.”

“Nice,” Dean said, surprised and grateful that something could be easy for once. As long as he wasn’t killing anyone, maybe the archangel wasn’t that bad.  “We’ll go in, take care of the rabble, and you can take Abaddon. Sounds like a plan.”

“Why would you come?” Anna asked. “The three of us can handle a horde of demons.” She flashed a wicked grin. “I’m actually looking forward to the practice. We’ve been so bored.”

“Two reasons,” Dean told her, counting them off on his fingers. “One: we’re hunters. It’s our job, what we do. We’re not backing out of a fight just because we have backup. Two: those demons are taking prisoners. Human prisoners. We’re gonna need to do some major clean-up, and no offence, but that is not usually an angelic skill. You’ll need our expertise there.”

The three new allies looked at Sam, who gave a halfhearted shrug. “What he said. We’re not sitting this out.”

“Your choice,” Gabriel said, glancing at Anna and Alfie sternly. “We’ll back you up and keep you safe if we can, but I can’t promise anything if I’m fighting Abaddon.”

“We don’t expect you to,” Sam replied calmly.

Dean looked at his brother, worried he would see that hard look in his eyes, the one that reflected that he was absolutely prepared to die for a cause. The one Dean wished he hadn’t seen often enough to recognize to easily. He was surprised and relieved to find it wasn’t there.

“How did the other part of your trip go?” Sam asked Gabriel. “The Horn?”

“Horn?” Anna asked.

“My Horn,” Gabriel explained. “I got it, locked it away. Gadreel won’t use the spell again.”

“Thank you, brother,” Cas said gravely. “He has killed enough of our kind already.”

Anna gave Gabriel a glare. “You’re going to fill me in on all this later,” she demanded. “Me and the rest of the angels.”

“Right. There’s almost a hundred of you. What did you have planned for them?” Sam asked. “Are you going to be between here and there until they’re back in Heaven?”

“Perhaps we could bring them closer?” Anna asked. “Here maybe?”

“No way,” Dean said, squashing the thought before it could go any further. “They are not staying in the bunker.”

“Or someplace nearby?” Anna amended quickly.

Gabriel tilted his head and pursed his lips as he thought. “I wasn’t having much fun up in the great badger state. We have, what? A day of downtime?” he said eventually. “Anna, Alfie, think you can find us some nice new digs before tomorrow night?”

Samandriel and Anna both nodded. “I don’t think it’ll be a problem, sir,” Samandriel said.

“What did I say about that word?” Gabriel asked seriously.

“Sorry – Gabriel,” Samandriel said quickly.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “You gotta lighten up, there, kid.”

Samandriel wisely refrained from answering.

Gabriel looked around the table, clapping his hands together. “Well, it looks like we have a plan. One even the Winchesters will follow. Who’da thought that could happen?”

“Can it,” Dean said warningly.

“Aww, I’m sorry,” Gabriel said, sounding just the opposite.  “I think we’re done here, though.” He looked at dean, Sam and Cas. “Go, enjoy a break. You look like you need it.”

“Thank you, Gabriel,” Cas said before Dean could say something sarcastic.

“Yeah, thanks,” Sam said.

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean said, getting up.  He was conflicted: grateful for the Trickster’s help (as long as he followed through), but craving some space between them. “I wanted to check out the old Jag in the garage, see what I can do with it. I’ll show you what to look for in a classic engine.”

He led the way out of the library, leaving Sam to deal with the other angels.

“I don’t see how I could benefit from understanding the engines of classic cars, Dean,” Cas told him as they made their way down the hall. “I would like to speak more with Anael.”

“Later,” Dean promised. “Just – give me a minute? Please?” He opened the door to the garage and let them in, looking down lines of beautiful classic cars.

“Anything for you,” Cas said earnestly.

Dean knew he meant it. “Jeeze, Cas, don’t say things like that,” he complained.

He looked back at his friend, who was looking at him quizzically. “What do you need?” Cas asked instead, and Dean sighed.

 _Peace,_ he thought. _A world without archangels or demons or Knights of Hell, where we’re safe as long as we’re smart enough not to let a wendigo take us by surprise._

He did say it out loud, he just looked at Cas. “I just need some time with my cars and my friend,” he said instead. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad Gabriel’s here, as long as he’s _actually_ on our side – which, by the way, I’m not convinced of yet – but I need to adjust, you know?”

“I know, Dean,” Cas said, walking over to the Jaguar and lifting to hood. Dean took his place next to the angel, creeping into Castiel’s personal space for once as he pressed in to get a better look.

It was a beautiful car, Dean thought, looking down at the nearly pristine engine. Aside from some dust, it was in mint condition. God, what was a mint 1952 Jaguar worth these days? Dean decided he wasn’t even going to check online; there was no way he could part with this beauty.

He put one hand on Cas’s shoulder and used the other to point out the parts of the engine. Cas listened attentively, leaning into Dean’s hand.

Dean couldn’t help smiling at that.

 

…

 

As soon as Dean was out of sight, Sam was assaulted by Anna, who was demanding a real hug.

He chuckled at her, standing to acquiesce. Her vessel didn’t even reach his shoulder anymore, but she seemed content to nuzzle his chest and let him wrap his long arms around her.

“It’s good to see you,” he told her honestly after a minute. “It’s kinda a miracle, actually.”

“That’s what we thought,” she told him, pulling away. She looked over to Gabriel with a smile. “Apparently, archangels can still do good.”

“Hey, what did I tell you about that kind of talk? I don’t do good – I’m a Trickster.” Gabriel scolded with mock severity. “For two angels who want me to hand out orders, you sure are bad at following them!”

Anna giggled and looked to Alfie – Samandriel. “Come on, we have work to do.”

Samandriel nodded and blinked out of the room with a rush of wings.

“We’ll catch up soon,” Anna said, standing on her toes and stretching up to give Sam a kiss on the cheek – even with his head bowed, it was a reach for her. Then she was gone, too.

Sam looked over at Gabriel, who was still sitting, feet up on a table and chair tipped back dangerously. “You’re giving orders now?” he asked incredulously.

Gabriel gave a noncommittal shrug. “They’re not giving me much choice. If I don’t, they don’t know what to do yet.”

Sam looked at him curiously.  “So you’re their leader?” he asked, searching.

“I’m their archangel,” Gabriel corrected him. He pulled two lollipops out of the air and handed one to Sam. “No one really knows what that means anymore.”

“Someone has to lead them,” Sam pointed out, taking the candy and unwrapping it. It was one of those fancy specialty ones. Mocha latte. Sam gave it an experimental lick and discovered it was delicious.

Gabriel shrugged. “Let Cassie do it.”

Sam shook his head. “Cas messed up once already. He’s not ready to lead again.”

“Then let them lead themselves.”

Sam tilted his head, letting his expression tell Gabriel what he thought of that idea.

“It’s not me,” Gabriel said glumly.

“At least until this is over, it may have to be,” Sam told him.

Gabriel frowned at that. “It’s not going to last,” he said stubbornly.

Sam figured that was most he could hope for – any maybe even the best case scenario for everyone involved – so he let the subject drop. For now at least. Knowing how the angels had fallen apart after the Apocalypse, he had a feeling it would come up again.

“Can I ask you something?” Sam asked instead. He sat down on the edge of the table, next to Gabriel’s legs.

The archangel dropped them to the floor and leaned forward. “Course you can, Sammich.”

“The dreams, they were real, right?”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

“Even the one before? The night before the Elysian Fields?”

Gabriel leaned back. “Oh, that one,” he said softly, looking just a little sad. Not that Sam blamed him – the night before his brother killed him was probably not one of his favorite memories. “Yeah, that was real.”

Sam nodded into the silence, looking down at the intricate carvings in the bunker floor. “I’m glad,” he said eventually. “I – I always wondered.”

 “I meant it,” Gabriel told him, his voice solemn and sad. “I never got it – you Winchesters and your ideals. I was trying to teach the wrong lesson.”

“You got it right in the end,” Sam told him.

Gabriel looked up and met Sam’s eyes, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, and look where it got me.”

“Right back here, more powerful than ever?” Sam asked.

Gabriel laughed softly, a crooked grin on his face. “I can’t argue there.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Gabriel asked, “So what are you spending your downtime doing?”

“Research, probably,” Sam said, looking down at his hands, then back up at the Trickster. There was always research to do.

Gabriel shook his head. “No good. That’s work, not downtime.” He tilted his head, thinking. “You ever been to Antarctica?”

“Uh, no,” Sam said crisply. Because that question couldn’t lead to anything good.

“Perfect. Let’s go hang with some penguins, see the southern lights – it’ll be great!”

“No way,” Sam said, pushing his hair behind one ear. “We have to deal with Abaddon tomorrow. I’m not going to Antarctica, Gabe.” His voice softened. “How about some beer and books?”

“Nerd. Movies,” Gabriel countered, thankfully open to negotiating.

And did Sam just agree to spend his night with the archangel?

“The bunker doesn’t have a TV – we haven’t exactly found the time to get one.”

“Cause that’ll stop me,” Gabriel said sarcastically.

Sam smiled. “Fine. Beer and movies. I get to pick the first one.”

“Deal!” Gabriel agreed. 

Sam led the way to the kitchen to grab some beer before leading Gabriel to a large lounge area near the living quarters on the second sub-floor.

With a snap, Gabriel summoned a large screen and the type of ceiling-mounted movie projector that hooks up to a computer or Blu-ray player – already installed of course.

Sam thought about calling Dean and Cas in to join them, but decided against it. He settled down on one couch with a bottle of craft beer, content to spend the night watching sci-fi movies – and whatever weird stuff Gabriel chose.

Gabriel sat on the other side of the same couch, legs stretched out and looking completely content as they started the first movie.

 

…

 

After _The Avengers_ , directly followed by _Rise of the Guardians_ (Gabriel’s choice), and then finally _Iron Man 3_ (because Sam really wanted to catch up on the franchise), Sam was completely done with watching anything on a screen for at least a week. It wasn’t something he did often, and he didn’t have the stamina for it.

He turned off the projector and sat back down on the couch, surprisingly relaxed under the influence of most of a six-pack. Gabriel watched with an amused grin.

“So, didja think about what I said? About the whole brother business?” he asked after a moment of comfortable silence.

Sam looked up, surprised. “Yeah, I did actually. I – uh, thought a lot about it.”

“And…?”

Sam smiled and leaned forward to grab his bottle, smirking to himself.  “I gift-wrapped everything in his room,” he said.

“You – what? Sorry, Sam-bear, but I’m not following,” Gabe told him.

“Sam-bear?” Sam asked.

Gabriel was smiling as he shook his head, not letting Sam get distracted. “Explain yourself.”

Sam sighed. “When we were kids – hell, until just before we met you the first time around – Dean and I used to have prank wars. I thought he’d get the message if I started one up again.”

Gabriel laughed, his eyes gleaming. “You Winchesters really don’t know how to communicate, do you?”

Sam let his smirk grow. “Dean thought it was you.” He let Gabriel laugh gleefully for a moment before adding, “I told him it wasn’t. He gave me what was apparently a soy sauce soda masquerading as Coke to get me back.”

Gabriel laughed even louder.  “That’s diabolical,” he said. “I like the way your brother thinks.”

“I’m not sure he’d take that as a compliment,” Sam told him.

“So what’s next?” Gabe asked, clearly excited by the idea. “Anything I can do to help, just let me know.”

Sam shook his head. “Nope, no angelic interference. And no harming the Impala or cutting my hair. We have rules.”

“Lame,” Gabriel teased, drawing the word out.

“Hey, I like my hair,” Sam said through a yawn. He looked at the clock. It was already one in the morning, and it had been a long couple of weeks.

“Alright, Rapunzel, bedtime for you,” Gabriel told him. “We have a big day tomorrow.”

Sam had to agree. He stretched through another yawn.

“Mind if I keep this all here?” the archangel asked, standing and snapping away the empty bottles. “You kids could use a home theater.”

“Sure. Dean’ll love it,” Sam told him. He smiled up at the angel, wanting to say something to thank him for the first really relaxing night he’d had in ages, but not having any words to do so.

Gabe walked to stand in front of Sam, looking him over with an expression Sam couldn’t interpret.

“This was fun,” Sam said eventually, starting to feel uncomfortable and just a little excited by that look.

“Course it was, look who you were with,” the archangel said confidently.

Sam stood up, thinking to leave. But the movement put him right in Gabriel’s personal space, almost chest to chest. Gabriel was so much shorter than him – he didn’t even make it to Sam’s chin – but he had such a large presence, Sam felt crowded.

Gabe put a hand on his shoulder, gently, and looked up at him.

Sam knew where this was going – he had too many beers when he wasn’t used to drinking anymore, and Gabriel was fun and attractive and goddammit _nice_ , surprising as that was, and he gave Sam space to forget about the monsters they were hunting. It would be so easy to just lean down and let this happen.

He backed away and around the couch, ducking his head to hide his eyes behind his hair. “I’ll – I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Gabe,” he said. And when had he started to use that name? He didn’t remember.

“Yeah, Samsquatch,” Gabe said. Sam could hear disappointment in it. “Tomorrow.”

With what was becoming a habit, he disappeared with the sound of wings, leaving Sam alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!
> 
> Sabriel will happen. Eventually. Someday. I promise.


	14. First Battle

The next afternoon was a flurry of activity. Gabriel had one of his angels, Remiel, watch Amarillo and find the small desecrated temple where Abaddon’s demons were preparing her ritual. They decided not to bring in any other angels yet, as this was supposed to be a surgical strike. Abaddon wouldn’t arrive until late, and they would go then, when they were sure they could confront her.

Sam spent the day between helping Dean ready holy water and devil’s trap bullets, and checking in on Cas, Anna and Samandriel, who were readying a large, empty farmhouse nearby for the resurrected angels. It wouldn’t fit seventy-four humans, but since the angels didn’t need things like bedrooms and kitchens, it would be more than enough room for them to work, especially with its adjacent barn. Right now, it was just logistics to figure out what they needed in there, and where.

Gabriel, for his part, was nowhere to be found. He had told Anna that he was going out early that morning, and that he would be back with plenty of time to spare before sunset, but nothing else.

Sam couldn’t help wondering if Gabriel’s absence was about him, but he also couldn’t spare the time to think too hard on it.

At any rate, the archangel reappeared an hour before sunset, as promised. Sam didn’t know where he had been, but he could almost _feel_ him glowing with a strange blue-green energy Sam couldn’t quite see. It was almost like seeing double image, with the shadows he saw in the Void superimposed over reality.

“All powered up and ready to go,” Gabriel told them as they prepared to leave. They were gathered in the bunker meeting room, going over their final preparations. The angel Remiel was with them, using tall muscular vessel with dark skin, wearing jeans and a simple black tee-shirt – nothing at all like the formal suits most angels seemed to prefer. He was warm, too: somber like a warrior, but with a kind expression that Sam had never associated with angels.

“What happened to you, brother?” Castiel asked, looking at Gabriel suspiciously.

“Nothing happened _to_ , me bro,” Gabriel replied. “I happened to be a big thing in the old days. I’m actually _still_ a pretty big thing with some neo-pagans on new moons. Not as powerful as the old cults, but I dropped by some rituals in the other hemisphere – just in case the extra juice came in handy.”

“Gabriel,” Anna said slowly. “Do you remember what I said about you hardly feeling like an angel sometimes?”

Gabriel gave her a bored look, clearly remembering and not much caring.

She continued, “You don’t look like an angel at all anymore. Your Grace is obscured by the Trickster magic.”

Something happened – something Sam couldn’t see and could only barely feel, like static on his arm – and then the room went back to normal. Gabriel went back to normal, a sneer marring his face.

“There, is that better, sis? Lock the pagan up tight, let the Grace flow – does that make you happy?”

Anna gave him a measuring stare. “Actually, yes,” she said.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever. What’s the plan?”

“We go in, we rescue the humans they have locked up, gank the demons, and you go after the bitch,” Dean said succinctly.

“Right,” Gabriel said, looking around the room. He straightened his back like a general, and Sam could see a slight crease in his brow as he tried to settle into the role of leader. “Anael, I want you with the Winchesters and Cas. They shouldn’t need you, but for the moment none of them have wings if things get tight.” He gave Cas an apologetic glance. “Alfie, you’re on rescue duty. Find the humans in there, stabilize them and bring them here. Once they’re all out, see if you can get one to take over here and join Anna with the Winchesters. Remiel, make sure the place is secure. I don’t want any demons getting in or out.”

“Not a problem,” Remiel said in a deep, rumbling voice that made Castiel’s seem almost feminine. He cracked the joints in his massive fists and stretched his neck, clearly eager to fight in this form.

“All right,” Gabriel said, looking around at the group, “Is that it? We ready to do this thing?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Dean said, brandishing Ruby’s knife.

Sam nodded and held up the gun with the six devil’s trap bullets they had managed on the short timeframe. He had an angel blade strapped to his waist and a few bottles of holy water for when that ran dry. “Let’s get to it,” he said.

Gabriel nodded and put a hand on Cas’s shoulder before they both popped out of the room. Samandriel took Sam’s elbow and Anna took Dean’s before they both flew to Texas.

It had been a long time since Sam had last travelled Angel Air, and it took him a moment to get his bearings. All seven of them were crowded in a small hall, presumably outside the main ritual chamber. The double doors were covered with warding sigils, but none of them Enochian, at least as far as Sam could tell. The demons weren’t trying to keep angels out.

“There are angels in there,” Samandriel said before Sam could ask. His voice was soft and faraway, as though he were half in his vessel and half in the chamber.

“Why –?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know, but it’s show time,” Gabriel interrupted. The doors opened of their own accord, and he rose up on invisible wings, as Sam had never seen an angel do before. Brandishing his angel sword, he swept into the room, interrupting the ritual.

“He’s got style,” Dean admitted, grudging admiration clear on his face.

Sam nodded and hefted his gun.  “Let’s get this over with.”

Dean looked at his brother with a savage grin before lunging into ritual, knife disemboweling a demon before Sam could find a target.

It was easy enough to discern the friendlies from the foes: humans were shackled, sometimes drugged to delirium; demons’ eyes were black and vicious. Working on finely honed reflexes alone, Sam put a bullet into one’s brain as it tried to rush their small raiding party.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Samandriel popping in and out of the room, gathering the humans in groups of two or three before taking them to safety. In the center of their group, Cas and Dean danced together, slaughtering demons and watching each other’s backs as they waded straight into the fray. Sam moved around the room to the right, flanking the demons targeting Dean, as Anael did the same to the left. The four of them were not only superior warriors, but they worked well together, and a pile of bodies quickly began to grow at their feet.

Sam spared a moment to look at Gabriel, still flying above the battle, diving in to attack the demons in the center near the altar. Sam recognized Abaddon in their midst, kneeling and chanting as several of her servants fought off the archangel. Sam aimed for her head, knowing the bullet would at least slow her down, and shot.

Without breaking her chant, the Knight of Hell dodged to the side, letting the bullet zoom pass her head instead of through it. Sam swore and aimed for a more immediate target – a black-eyed teenage girl about to stab Dean in the back.

He emptied the last of hiss bullets into a few more demons who were getting too close to Dean or Cas, then dropped the gun and pulled out his blade. At some point Samandriel appeared beside him, fighting with his own angel blade and smiting demons who dared to come too close.

He spared another glance back at Gabriel, who had quickly dealt with most of the demons on the altar.  It was just him and Abaddon now, but the Knight was holding her own against the archangel. She had a knife of her own, which she used to parry and distract more than attack. Her lips were still moving, though Sam could see the words were difficult to conjure.

The air behind her shifted and warped, and a doorway opened.

“Dean, the altar,” Sam shouted, alerting his brother. There was no way she could have succeeded – they had taken her sacrifices, all of them. Samandriel was back; there was no one else to save.

Gabriel struck at that moment, slicing with his sword in one hand and making some kind of gesture with the other. A globe of blue/green light appeared in front of Gabriel, crackling with power. Gabriel used his free hand to direct the globe toward the Knight.

Sam watched in horror as a bright light exploded in front of Gabriel, flinging the archangel back into the ceiling with a harsh _thud._ He careened down for a moment before catching himself, preparing to dive back in with his sword.

Before anyone could react, Abaddon was through the portal, and it closed behind her. The remaining six demons opened their mouths simultaneously, clouds of smoke pouring out and down into the floorboards. Their vessels dropped, all dead without their demon possessors.

Anael and Samandriel blinked out of existence with a double rush of wings.

“That portal didn’t go to Heaven,” Cas said, mostly to Dean, before they could ask the question.

“Then where did it go?” Sam asked.

“Hell,” Gabriel told them, landing by Sam. “Abaddon’s the queen there. She can come and go as she pleases.”

“Then we have to –” Dean started, rage in his eyes.

“Please, are you really that stupid?” Gabriel snapped at Dean. “We’re not going after her. Unless you think taking a party of seven angels and hunters into Hell to fight the queen on her turf is a good idea?”

Dean looked between Sam and Cas, silently asking their opinions.

“My brother’s right,” Cas said. “We have survivors at the bunker, and other issues to deal with.”

Anael and Samandriel reappeared suddenly, Remiel now between them. “There were no other escapes,” Remiel said, his deep voice underscored with menacing satisfaction.

“We took care of the ones without hosts,” Samandriel clarified.

“Thank you,” Castiel said, looking to his brethren.

Sam looked around at the wreckage of the ritual. All the workings of the ritual were still there: sigils and spell components and paper tossed around the room and forgotten in the heat of the battle. There were clues there, if they could decipher them.

“We need to figure out her spell,” Sam said, moving toward the altar resolutely. “If we know what she’s doing –”

He was stopped by Castiel’s hand on his arm, pulling him back toward the door. When he looked back, Cas was looking at the other angels.

“It’s trapped. The inner circle was highly protected,” he explained. “Anael, could you?”

Anael gave him a nod before flashing onto the altar. She started collecting the components and putting them back into the black boxes the demons had used to store them.

“I’ll stay and help, in case any more come,” Remiel offered.

“Thanks,” Sam said. He looked at Gabriel and Samandriel. “That mean we have survivor duty?”

“They seem to be in good hands,” Samandriel told him. “But we should get back.”

He stepped forward and lifted his hands to Sam and Dean’s shoulders. Before he could fly them back Gabriel stopped him. “Take Cas, too,” the archangel told him. “I have some business to attend to.”

Sam looked up at him, surprised. He almost asked him to come back with them – it would be a lot easier to deal with everything with an archangel at their side – but then he shut his mouth. They dealt without an archangel their whole lives; they didn’t need to start relying on one now.

Gabe waggled one eyebrow at him. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back tonight,” he said. And then he was off.

Cas put a hand on Samandriel’s arm, and Sam braced himself for the inherent discomfort of flying Angel Air.

 

…

 

Dean felt good.

No matter that Abaddon had escaped, or there was an uncounted number of survivors in the bunker medical room, waiting for them. Adrenaline was still flowing freely, and he was riding the high of fighting and killing a dozen demons, his brother and angel both at his side.

Hey, sometimes you have to take the good where you find it, right?

Samandriel had taken them to the main library at the bunker, so he walked down the hall with Sam and Cas to find the survivors.

“What are we going to do with them?” Sam asked as they walk.

“No idea,” Dean said honestly.

“I think we should let them stay here,” Castiel suggested. Dean looked at him as if he had gone crazy. Again.

“Here? In the bunker?” he asked.

“Just for a few days,” Cas told him. “They’ll need some time to recover. We have the room.”

“Probably a good idea,” Sam agreed. “But can we trust them?”

“Can we trust anyone?” Dean muttered. Sam snorted.

“I can ensure that their rooms are warded,” Castiel told him. “We will make sure they are not a danger to us or themselves.”

 “It’s the right thing to do,” Sam chimed in. “At least until we know they’re recovered.”

Dean shrugged, clearly losing this battle. “Okay, but only for a few days,” he warned them. He reached out for the medical room’s door with a scowl.

He heard the familiar voice before he saw the face attached to it. “Nah, I know these guys. They’re harmless. I mean, vicious against monsters – y’all saw that – but sweet as kittens to people.”

“That’s enough, Garth,” Dean said, walking through the open door. He shot Garth a glance that he hoped interpreted as _‘Kittens? Really?’_ before surveying the room.

There were twelve – _twelve_ sacrifices. Damn, Abaddon had only used three last time. They were separated into two groups of six, one lively and worried, the other sitting morosely in a corner. Garth was talking to the energetic five others closest to the door: two middle aged men, a women in her sixties and another in her twenties or thirties, and a young girl, maybe seven or eight years old.

While Dean was sizing up the first group, Castiel had already rushed to the second.

“What is it?” Sam asked, following him with concern.

Dean raised an eyebrow: he hadn’t noticed before that those survivors looked drugged, almost lifeless. Cas was examining one of their wrists.

“Angels,” he said darkly. “They’re all angels but something’s been done to them to bind them to these vessels and keep them subdued.”

“How?” Sam asked.

Dean looked to Garth.

“It’s the necklaces,” the little girl said in a small voice. She moved behind the younger woman’s legs, looking terrified by the fact that she had spoken at all. Dean looked at the woman, and she gave him a small shrug. The others had the same reaction; they didn’t seem to know anything about what the girl was saying.

Dean crouched down in front of the woman, putting himself on the girl’s level. “It’s alright, sweetheart. You’re safe here,” he said in his best witness-calming voice.  “I’m Dean. What’s your name?”

She peered back at him from behind the woman’s legs, green eyes wide and scared.

“It’s ok, honey,” the woman said softly. “Tell him your name.” Dean could hear the quiver in her voice, and he was impressed by the strong front she was keeping up for the girl.

“Emily,” the little girl said softly, looking out at him from behind the woman’s legs.

“Hi, Emily. Can you tell me about the necklaces?” Dean asked.

“They were fighting,” she said. “Against the bad ones – the ones who took mommy and me. And then they put necklaces on them, and they all went to sleep.”

“Dean, I think I’ve found it,” Cas said, calling him over.

“Thanks, Emily,” Dean said, flashing the girl a smile before getting up to see what Cas was talking about. He was standing beside an angel wearing a young brunette woman with dull brown eyes and a pale complexion. She might have been pretty if she didn’t look so sickly.

“Here,” Cas said, pointing at a dark mark on the chest of the angel. Dean didn’t recognize it, but it was definitely something in an old script. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Don’t touch it, Cas,” Dean warned him, afraid of what it would do to his angel.

“I don’t think it’s harmful to me,” Castiel told him. He let his fingers hover over it. “It’s powerful I don’t know how to disconnect them from it.”

“Would Gabriel know?” Sam asked.

“It’s possible, but my brother –”

“Just got his ass handed to him by his own mojo,” Dean supplied helpfully when Cas broke off his sentence.

“Uh, I might –” Samandriel said from the doorway, where the angel had apparently been lurking.

Castiel looked up at him in surprise. “Do you recognize these?”

Samandriel made his way to the group, and peered down at the mark before looking up at Castiel, discomfort and regret clear on his face. “I – I remember things sometimes. Things I shouldn’t be able to know. Things Crowley shouldn’t know.”

Castiel put his hand on Samandriel’s shoulder in an all-too-human gesture of comfort. “That was not your fault, brother,” the angel says.

Samandriel shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter who’s at fault. The demons know how to do this because of what they did to me.”

Dean keeps his mouth shut and starts to look at the other comatose angels, because he’ll talk about torture and fault with his family, but it’s not really his area, and he’ll be damned if he has to start talking about it with other angels. Instead, he busies himself by confirming that all the angels have the same mark.

“Is there anything we can do?” he hears his brother ask gently.

“There might be,” Samandriel tells him.

Dean looks over and watches as the young-looking angel places a hand over the mark. There was a slight glow beneath his hand, and then a small silver necklace fell to the floor.

The angel in question took a deep, shuddering breath in, life returning to her with a jolt.

“Don’t touch it, Castiel,” Samandriel warned, looking down at the charm. He nodded to Sam. “It’s safe enough for humans.”

Sam didn’t look too convinced at that, which for a moment made Dean proud that his baby brother may finally be growing some self-preservation instincts. He pushed the thought away, quite aware that Sam is a grown-ass giant, but he was still happy to see the gigantor use a pair of medical tongs to pick of the necklace and put it in a box.

“Alright, Garth,” Dean said, turning back to the humans in the room. “Want to introduce us all?”

“George Walker,” a tall older man says, holding his hand out to Dean. “And this is my partner, Will O’Connell.”

Dean sizes up the two men, both of whom are in their late forties. George is rough and tanned, though it looks like he might have been blonde before going gray. He has the haunted look of someone who was brought up normal, but had gotten used to the supernatural the hard way. Dean could see _hunter_ written all over him.

Will, on the other hand, had the quiet strength of someone brought up to the hard life. A shorter black man with more muscle than even Sammy, Dean figured he could hold his own in a fight.

“Partner?” Dean asked, holding out his hand to shake.

“Hunting partner,” Will explained. “We thought we were hunting demons. Looks like they laid a trap for us.”

“Same here,” the older woman said. “Caroline Evans. Nathan, my son, was hunting. I was supposed to be home, but I could never help going out to help when it was just him, especially against something like that. I set off a trap meant for him, I think. I need to call him, see if he’s safe.”

Dean immediately decided he liked her. She had the look of a grandmother, but he saw tattoos beneath her sleeves, and her grip was strong as steel when he shook her hand.

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” Garth said, nodding at Dean. “And this is Jennifer, and her little angel Emily.”

“Angel’s not exactly a compliment here,” Dean said, automatically. He send an apologetic look to Cas and Samandriel. “Present company excluded.”

“Aww, Dean, why you gotta be like that?” Garth asked. He looked back at the group. “This is Dean Winchester, and that’s his brother Sam.”

“Winchester?”  George looked him over warily. “The boys who started all that shit a few years back? The ones who started the apocalypse?”

“Hey, now, they ended it too,” Garth reminded him.

“The world’s been insane since then,” George said. “We’ve lost _lives_ because of you too.”

“We’re always losing lives,” Caroline reminded him firmly. “Always. Because of the demons and the monsters, not the hunters in their way.”

George opened his mouth to argue, but Dean gave all of them a warning look. “Listen, you don’t like us, then that’s your problem. I’ve got too much work to do to care, and I’d rather not have any more guests. We can arrange for you to get wherever you need to be, or you can stay here a few days and recoup. Up to you.”

Will stepped in front of George before he could answer. “You have to excuse him. He lost his wife and kids to the croatoa virus. It’s how he got into this life.” He looked back to his partner, then to Dean. “We’re staying. We had some minor injuries the kid took care of, but we could some down time before we’re back on the road.”

Dean nodded, then turned to Garth. Might as well get this over with now. “And you. Where have you been for the past six months?”

A strained look passed over Garth’s face. “The demons have prisons now,” he told Dean. “Crowley’s people and Abaddon’s. For whatever they need them for. I got caught, and they thought I was better to them alive than dead.”

Dean nodded, not sure there was anything else to say. They would talk more later. “Sorry, buddy. Bet you could use a bed, too. As it happens, we have a few extra rooms for all of you. Cas, come on.”

He left Sam and Samandriel to take care of the angels and led the group down to the living area of the bunker. So much for his good mood.

 

…

 

The newly freed angels were drained by the demons’ charms, and had passed out in very human-like fashion almost immediately after Samandriel had freed them from their stupors. The angel had volunteered to stay with them while they recovered, leaving Sam to lock up the necklaces they had collected and store them safely away from any angels.

He tried not to think about the implications of those things, or how many more the demons may have.

Sam was tired after the ordeal, but not as exhausted as he should have been. Instead of looking for his bed, he made his way to the kitchen, wondering what kind of snacks they might have there.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one. Gabriel was already there, sifting through their cabinets in what was apparently a very enthralling quest. The archangel didn’t even turn around to greet him when he walked in, boots clicking loudly on the floor.

“Hey,” he said, leaning against the door frame.

Gabriel looked up at him with a mischievous grin. “Hey Sammich. Who stocked this place? The chocolate supply seems to be hidden.”

“The chocolate supply doesn’t exist,” Sam told him, “I do most of the shopping.”

Gabriel scowled at him, and Sam thought to ask why the archangel didn’t snap some up for himself.

He knew that answer already, though. He had seen what had happened when Gabriel tried to go up against Abaddon, and he didn’t blame the angel for not trying his magic again so soon. “What – what happened today?” he asked carefully, have afraid Gabriel would smite him for just asking the question.

“I _think_ we saved a dozen sacrifices and stopped a raid on Heaven, Sammy-boy. Where were you for all that?”

Sam frowned. “Seriously, Gabe. If you’re going to do this – if you’re going to work with us on this – we can’t be in the dark when things go wrong.”

Gabe leaned against the counter, deflated. “I wish I could tell you,” he said after a long moment. “I – something’s up with my power. Not sure what, and I don’t know if it’s safe for you humans.”

“Is it safe for you?” Sam asked.

Gabriel gave a ghost of a smirk. “Course it is. I’m the archangel Gabriel, remember? I can take a shock or two.”

That didn’t make Sam feel much better.

Gabriel must have read it on his face, because he walked up to Sam and put a hand on his face. Sam’s heart picked up the pace a bit at the touch, but he kept his face impassive.

“Hey, it’s fine,” Gabriel told him. “It’s been a long day, you should get some sleep. We’ll talk it all over tomorrow with the rest of the Scooby gang.”

Before Sam could respond, the archangel lifted himself up on his toes and brushed his lips against Sam’s.

And then he was gone, leaving Sam alone in the kitchen, wondering what had just happened. And stunned by the realization of how much he wanted more of it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in the interest of not alienating my Pagan/Neo-pagan readers, I’ll admit to warping my research about new moons & Tricksters for the story. Supernatural does that more than a bit, and it adds to the actual story here, so I begrudgingly went with it, because Gabriel told me to and who am I to argue? For anyone actually interested in researching the Trickster as a deity, I suggest "The Trickster Makes This World: Mischief, Myth and Art" by Lewis Hyde. I’m still reading it, but it’s quite intriguing, and gives a pretty comprehensive worldview of the god/demigod.


	15. Hunters & Pie

The next day, Sam made sure to wake up early. He had the room next to the shared bathroom, so he waited by his door until he heard Dean get up for his morning routine. As soon as Dean was in the bathroom, he opened his door and pretended to be reading, listening for his brother’s reaction.

It took about ten minutes before he heard, “SHIT! WHAT THE FUCK?!?”

A very wet Dean ran out into the hall, standing at Sam’s doorway. “Sammy!” his brother said, and Sam jerked up, as though he hadn’t been waiting for this exact scenario.

“What’s up?” he asked, trying to put as much worry as possible into his face.

“You know how we said this place is probably not haunted?” Dean asked. Sam tried not to react to the green ooze on his brother’s shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Looks like we were wrong. Like, ectoplasm wrong.”

“What? Where?” Sam asked. “What kind?”

“Green. In the bathroom,” Dean explained. “I was showering, and it started coming out of the shower head. You have an EMF meter in here?”

Sam couldn’t help it. He broke, laughing at Dean’s anxious expression. He had known the powder he’d put in the showerhead would turn the water green, but he had no idea it would change its consistency, too. And Dean’s reaction to the thick substance was priceless.

“What’s going on, Sam?” Dean asked, expression dropping as it dawned on him.

“I – ” Sam looked up at Dean’s face, hair dripping wet, green ooze dripping down his cheek  and shoulder as he scowled, and he couldn’t finish the sentence. He just started laughing again.

When he caught his breath, Dean was still scowling at him. “You deserved way worse, after the soy sauce,” he said at last.

“Yeah, well, it’s not going to get all over _my_ bed as I kick your ass,” Dean said menacingly, stepping into the room.

“No way, dude!” Sam said, putting up a hand to fend off his brother. “Put some clothes on before you come in here.”

Dean looked down at himself, suddenly blushing at the fact that he only had a towel around his waist for modesty. “You’re such a bitch,” he said.

“It doesn’t even look like ectoplasm. It’s not nearly thick enough,” Sam said, squinting to get a better look at the substance without getting close enough for Dean to grab him and try to make him pay. He had bought the stuff in a toy shop, as part of a ‘mad science’ set. It went into a clear tablet which dissolved in water, releasing the powder as a kind of dye. It apparently also stuck together like a gel. A gel that was now started to crust up as it dried out. It was perfectly gross.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” Dean continued, wiping some of it off his chest – really, just spreading it around more – and flicking a bit of it in Sam’s direction.

Sam snorted and dodged. “Sure I will.” He opened a trunk and picked up his EMF meter, tossing it to Dean. “Here you go, just in case you forget what ectoplasm looks like again.”

Dean caught it automatically with one hand, shock and anger clear on his face.

Sam couldn’t take it. That expression, plus the drying green ooze and the dripping hair – his brother looked ridiculous. He fell back onto his bed, laughing as Dean stalked back to the bathroom.

 

…

 

Three hours later, the last thing Sam wanted to do was laugh.

He was seated in the Men of Letters’ meeting room, in what he could only label a war council. Dean sat to his right, and Cas beside him. Anna and Garth sat across from him, the former representing Gabriel’s angels and the latter the hunters they had rescued from the demons. Gabriel sat to Sam’s left, looking as though this was the last place he wanted to be.

Remiel and Samandriel were lucky: they just had to deal with a few hunters and a half dozen wingless angels, making sure they stayed out of the way and at least _tried_ to recover.

“So, the way I see it, we have demons trying to break into Heaven – demons who can subdue angels, may I add,” Dean pointed out. “We have Metatron keeping the angels out of heaven, leaving it pretty much unprotected if Abaddon can pick the lock. On our side, we have an archangel, a handful of angels and hunters, and whatever we can scrounge up from the Men of Letters’ library to help us.”

“You forgot Crowley,” Cas pointed out quietly.

“I didn’t forget, I just didn’t want to deal with him yet.”

“The tailor? How’s he doing these days?” Gabriel asked. “He was always good for a laugh.”

“He’s the King of Hell,” Sam said seriously. “We kinda have him locked up downstairs.”

“You trapped the King of Hell in your basement?” Garth ask. “Nice!”

Sam could practically feel Dean rolling his eyes next to him. “Yes. We have the King of Hell in our basement. Great.”

“Abaddon first,” Sam told them. “Garth, any more you can tell us about these rituals that we don’t already know?”

“She’s after blood. Not just the blood of the righteous,” Garth said, looking uncomfortable. “The innocent and the holy, too. That’s why they had Emily, Jennifer and the angels.”

“Great,” Dean said. “ _And_ they have a way to subdue angels. That’s just perfect. Anyone have any ideas on dealing with this problem?”

“You did say we have an archangel, right?” Garth asked, looking at Gabriel. The archangel was sucking indecently on a bright pink and green striped hard candy stick. “Seems to me Metatron has to listen to him, right?”

“Not gonna lie, I wish that was how it was going down,” Gabriel said. “But for the moment, let’s just pretend that the archangel isn’t in the room. For now, my powers are not going to be the lynchpin of any plan.”

“Yeah, what was up with that?” Dean asked. “Your mojo on the fritz or something?”

“Honestly? I couldn’t tell you,” Gabriel said. Given the tired, almost dejected sound in his voice, Sam believed him.

“Could Abaddon be put in the Cage?” Anna asked slowly. “If it could hold Lucifer and Michael –”

“No,” Castiel interrupted her. “Absolutely not. We would have to open it to get her in.”

“And there’s no way we’re risking that,” Dean agreed. “That’s not an option. What about Crowley?”

“What about him?” Sam asked.

“He’s had information to trade before. Think we can get him to talk more?”

“Doesn’t seem like he’d have anything new,” Sam pointed out.

“It wouldn’t hurt to try,” Cas said. “Maybe allow him to contact his followers.”

“Sorry to be a spoilsport, but in exchange for what?” Garth asked. “There’s not a whole lot the he could want that we’d be willing to give him.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam said, not sure he wanted to discuss Crowley’s latest quirk.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Gabriel told him. “Isn’t that the deal? Full disclosure or we don’t play together?”

Sam frowned. “Blood,” he said after a moment. “Crowley’s addicted to human blood, possibly because of me. We gave him dead man’s blood in exchange for information last time.”

Anna’s lip curled in disgust, and Sam couldn’t say he blamed her. He wasn’t exactly comfortable with the whole situation himself.

“How do we kill a Knight of Hell?” Dean asked, looking at Gabriel. “Any idea? Because if you don’t, Crowley’s the only one who might.”

“An archangel with a sword,” Gabriel said softly. “That’s the only way I ever needed.”

“Then we’ve at least gotta try his majesty down there,” Dean said.

“We need to talk to Metatron,” Sam interjected, voicing the only reasonable plan he could think of. “Whatever’s going on, he’s even more screwed than we are if she breaks through to Heaven. We need to convince him to put aside whatever issues we have and deal with her first.”

Gabriel shook his head. “I think you’re being naïve there, Sammich,” he said. “Metatron’s got an overblown ego and oversized powers at the moment; he’s not listening to anyone.”

“Then what can we do?” Sam asked, incensed. “We need Abaddon out of the picture. We at least need to make sure the angels know to protect themselves against Abaddon, whether they’re on our side or not. Our options are short right now: we talk to Crowley, we talk to Metatron, we hope we stumble upon something in the archives, or we try our luck for more info with another demon hostage. We don’t exactly have good odds on any of those.”

“Crowley first,” Dean said, using the military command voice their father had taught them. “Then we try Metatron if that doesn’t pan out.” He looked up at Anna and Gabriel. “But you’d better get a place ready for your angels. If this doesn’t work, you’re gonna want them close.”

 “I agree,” Cas said, putting on hand on the back of Dean’s chair. “We don’t have many options, but that seems to be our best.”

Sam looked at his brother, eyebrows raised skeptically, but Dean seemed convinced. Sam decided to trust him and hope for the best.

One by one the other members of the group agreed. Sam, Dean, Gabriel and Cas would interrogate Crowley. If it didn’t work, Cas thought he had contacts to get them face to face with Metatron.

In either case, they were putting a lot of trust in their enemies. Sam didn’t like that one bit.

 

…

 

“Well, boys, you didn’t have to being my anything,” Crowley smirked up at them from his chains when Sam and Dean walked into to his cell, flanked by Gabriel and Castiel. “Loki, what a pleasure. So nice to see you after all this time.” Sam raised his eyebrows. They had never actually explained to Crowley exactly who the Trickster was, but he thought the demon would have known.

“Can it Crowley.” Gabe growled from just behind Sam’s right shoulder.

“Now, now, no need to be rude. I remember a time when you and I saw quite a lot of each other,” the demon taunted. “You always _were_ such the tease.”

“Yeah, that’s because you’re a stalker,” Gabriel sneered. “Remember the answer you always got? Still applies. I don’t dance with demons.”

The electricity flickered in the room, and Sam felt the hairs on his arm stand up on end. He looked back at Gabriel, but the archangel looked exactly as he always did, though possibly a bit more pissed.

Crowley must have seen something different, because his eyebrows shot up. “Ah, _that’s_ what you’ve been hiding. I’d always wondered.”

“So now that the cat’s out of the bag, can you see how this is going to go?” Gabriel asked, wickedness clear in his voice.

“We need information,” Sam said, trying to cut in before things escalated. “From you.”

“Not now, Moose. Let the adults talk,” Crowley said patronizingly.

“Listen to him,” Gabriel commanded. Sam looked back in surprise, and caught Gabriel nodding at him seriously.

Okay. That was good, right? He’d interrogated demons dozens of times – no need to feel like a mouse caught between two cats now.

“We need to know about the Knights of Hell. How do we kill Abaddon?” Sam asked.

Crowley’s eyebrows raised again, this time in interest. “My, my,” the demon purred. “I may know something – not sure I can remember with these chains clouding my thoughts.”

“Can it,” Dean barked.

Sam continued, feeling almost guilty. He knew what it was like to be an addict, and he was about to use it against Crowley. “We’re offering the same deal as before. Freedom’s off the table. We’ll give you a vial of dead man’s blood for information, and another later if it works.”

He could see the spark of interest in Crowley’s eyes, but the demon frowned. “Just two? No, one up front, one after I’ve told you, and three at my leisure if it works.”

 Sam frowned. There was really no down side to giving Crowley blood – if anything, it might make him more human. That had been the point of it in the Trials, right? And it had been working before Dean stopped them.

He looked to the angels, but both of them had stoic expressions. Dean just looked back at him with a blank expression, clearly not entirely against the idea, but not thrilled either.

“Deal,” Sam said at last. He nodded to Dean, who was already holding the syringe they had intended to trade.

Sam watched again in rapt fascination as Crowley injected himself with its contents. The demon closed his eyes, lips pressed together in a small, indulgent smile. It made him feel slightly voyeuristic to watch, but he couldn’t look away.

“Well, now, that’s better,” Crowley sighed when he was finally done. Dean quickly reached down and grabbed the syringe from his limp fingers before taking his place in their formation again. “What were you asking, again, Sam?”

“How do we kill Abaddon?” Sam asked tersely.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Crowley said with what Sam could only describe as a cute smile. “Cain made them. Cain culled the rest. Cain can kill her.”

“Cain’s out of the killing business,” Gabriel told him. “He’s been holed up who knows where for decades, losing his marbles one bag at a time.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not available for conversation,” Crowley said told them.

“Wait, can we go back to Cain? As in Cain and Able?” Sam asked.

“The one and only,” Crowley told him. “I could take you there, make introductions. Tell him what good friends you brothers Grimm are. Word is, he was looking for a protégé before he took himself out of the game. Squirrel here is just his type, don’t you think?”

“That is not an option,” Castiel said, moving between Dean and the (currently harmless, high) demon. He widened his stance after a moment, shifting his weight so he was in front of both Dean and Sam.

“We’re not interested in Cain,” Gabriel backed his brother. “Or have you already forgotten who I am?”

“Yes, the wing-clipped archangel,” Crowley countered. “Come on, do you think I can’t see it? Me? I was a warlock first, and a demon second. You’re mucking around with new magic, and it doesn’t seem to like you much.”

“See what?” Sam asked.

“Nothing,” Gabriel told him.

“All that power, and it’s so conflicted,” Crowley continued, his voice getting soft. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” He looked up, brows furrowed in what looked like concern. His voice had a sad, curious undertone when he asked: “Do you even know what you are anymore?”

“Seriously, this is getting old,” Gabriel said with a sneer. “If you don’t have any other options, we’re out of here.”

“No! Don’t leave,” Crowley said quickly, one hand coming up in protest.

Again, Sam was shocked by the effect the blood had on the demon. His mannerisms were almost human.

“Anything else to tell us?” Dean asked, still behind Cas, but with his hands on his hips in a domineering stance.

Crowley looked between them. “Cain, and the First Blade – that’s all I know.”

“Then I think we’re done here,” Dean said.

“Wait!” Crowley called again. “I told you what you wanted. Don’t I get more?”

Sam looked at his brother, eyebrows raised in silent conversation. _He did tell us what he knew._

Dean rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. _Yeah, but it was useless._

Sam gave a half shrug. _What could it hurt?_

Dean sighed. “Fine, you get your blood.” He looked Crowley over. “Tomorrow. You’re strung out enough now as it is.”

“But –”

“No buts,” Dean said authoritatively, turning to leave. Sam turned and followed him, sure that the angels would follow.

Curiously, Gabriel didn’t join them in the hall to walk back upstairs, and when Sam looked in the cell before he closed it, he saw the archangel wasn’t there, either.

Angels and their wings. Sam had forgotten how off-putting they could be.

“So what’s out next option?” Sam asked, looking between Dean and Cas.

“Talking to Metatron, unfortunately,” Cas reminded him. “And hoping we can unite the angels.”

The frowns on both the Winchester’s faces said all they needed to about their feelings on that particular plan.

 

…

 

The one good thing about Cas losing his wings – if there was anything Dean could call good about it – was that as long as he was with the Winchesters, it was generally easy to find him. In the bunker, for example, there were only about four places the angel could be.

Dean found him in the kitchen, sitting at the table talking with one of the survivors, Caroline.

She was dressed in borrowed sweats with a small bit of fabric pulling back her grey hair as a makeshift tie, but looked as comfortable as he had ever seen anyone in their own skin as she bustled about in the kitchen. She was making something that smelled absolutely delicious.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said as he approached, turning around to look at him. “Caroline was just telling me about her family.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow. “I thought you said you were a hunter.”

The older woman rolled her eyes, “I’ve been in this business a long time, and I’ve heard a thing or two about you boys. I _know_ you know about your mother’s family, so don’t go acting like Campbells are the only ones born into it.”

Dean blinked, taken aback. “Of course,” he said, belatedly. He took a seat beside Cas. “Did anyone set you up to call your son?””

The woman sent him a smile over her shoulder as she continued to work, cleaning the counters from her baking, it looked like. “Yes, and thank you. He’s fine, was just worried about me. He and his father want me home as quick as possible.”

“I’m sure one of the other angels could take you where you need to be,” Cas told her. Dean heard the sad, _‘One of the ones with wings’_ tacked onto the end of that, but didn’t comment on it.

 “No rush, really,” she said. “I’d like to see more of this place you boys have taken over.”

Dean glared up at her back. “Not sure how much we’re showing off,” he said offhandedly, trying not to be too rude to the woman.

She turned and smiled. “I don’t blame you either, not knowing a thing about any of us and all.” She bent to take something out of the oven as she continued. “Garth knows us, though. He’s been keeping us all connected, giving us leads. If you trust him, maybe you boys can come up with a way to let the other hunters in on all this.”

Dean was about to give her another lackluster answer when he saw what she was holding.

“Are those – pies?” he asked, his interest suddenly piqued.

“They certainly are. Apple. Castiel here asked for them, and Anna was kind enough to fetch me what I needed,” she said, laying a pan with twelve miniature pies down on a towel on the table.

Dean reached out for one automatically, and she slapped his hand away. “They’re still hot; you can wait five minutes and let them cool before you burn yourself.”

Dean frowned, but then his brain caught up with his stomach and he realized what she said. “Pie, Cas? I didn’t think you ate anymore.”

“I don’t,” Castiel told him in that somber way of his. “But Sam suggested I try pie when you returned from Utah. I think he remembered Gabriel’s fondness for sweets, and thought it may be an angelic trait. When Caroline told me she was a baker, I thought it was a good opportunity to follow his advice.”

Huh. So Sam did have intelligent thoughts sometimes, Dean mused.

“You’re a baker, too?” Dean asked, looking at her in surprise.

“Not professionally or anything,” she told him. “But I raised three sons and expect grandchildren any year now. I’ve picked up a thing or two.”

 Dean found himself smiling, liking this matriarch of a hunter, so unlike the hardened men and women he was used to finding in his business. Not that she wasn’t clearly just as tough as any other hunter – she just had softer edges. And pie.

“The Men of Letters used to give info to hunters sometimes,” Dean found himself saying, standing up to get plates and forks as he waited for the pie to cool. “I think we’ll try to make that happen again somehow.”

She gave him a fond smile. “Well, that’s good. Suppose you can have some of that pie now if you like.”

He grinned and scooped two out of their cradles in the baking tray, before looking up to see her glare. “I hope one of them is for Castiel,” she said warningly. “You boys have eight humans holed up here, and at least two other angels with a taste of food, if I’m reading that Gabriel and Anna right. I’m not spending all my time making pie cause you can’t share.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, suitably chagrined by her words. He slid the second pie onto Cas’s plate as though that had been his plan all along, then grabbed a fork to dig into the still-steaming pastry.

It was incredible. Perfectly browned, flakey crust that fell apart on his tongue; sweet, well-spiced filling still steaming; apples still just sour enough to compliment the filling, but not too tangy – everything about it was everything Dean could ask for. He closed his eyes and let a soft moan of ecstasy escape his lips.

When he opened them, he found that Cas and Caroline were both staring at him, the latter placing the remaining pies on a small tray.

“So good,” Dean said around the pie. He swallowed – almost regretfully, though there was another bite waiting for him –– and tried again. “This is amazing.”

Caroline smiled warmly, as though Dean had totally not just been making inappropriate noises in front of her. “Why thank you. I’ll just bring the rest of these to the others, if that’s ok?”

Anna appeared at the kitchen doorway, and Dean knew Cas well enough to know that the angel had silently asked her to come as an escort for the strange hunter. He was still getting used to Cas using Angel Radio again; it had been a long time since his angel had had a reason to talk to his brethren like that.

“Are they done?” Anna asked excitedly.

Caroline nodded. “I was just about to bring them around.”

“Here, I’ll help,” Anna said, walking in to take the tray from the older woman. If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d swear she was still the sweet girl they had met hiding from demons in a church so long ago. There was nothing angelic about her.

And yet he still felt compelled to tear himself away from his pie and watch her as she led the older woman out of the kitchen. Long habits of suspicion did that to a guy.

“Dean,” Cas said, grabbing his attention. “The angels we rescued from Abaddon – one, Asariel, was working for Metatron. She’s agreed to speak to him about a meeting.”

Dean frowned. He still didn’t know how he felt about the whole meeting with Metatron thing – he was pretty sure it was a terrible idea to try to negotiate with the Scribe – but he couldn’t come up with a better idea for the moment. “Alright,” he said after a pause. “We’ll do what we have to. But for now, can we please just enjoy the pie?”

“Of course,” Cas told him. The angel looked between his own pie and Dean’s plate. “How does it taste?”

“Delicious,” Dean told him around another bite. “Dig in, man.”

“No, I’d like you to describe it for me,” Cas told him.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You’ve had pie before,” he pointed out. “You know what it tastes like. And this?” He pointed to the pie with his fork. “This tastes like excellent pie.”

Cas frowned. “I’ve never eaten pie – or much of anything – when in full possession of my Grace. I find food…is not the same with a vessel, as it is when I inhabit a body like a human.”

“But Gabriel loves food,” Dean pointed out. “And it looks like Anna’s good with it.”

“They have many more years’ experience with these things,” Cas reminded him, “I thought perhaps the description might help.”

Dean nodded and took another bite, concentrating on its myriad flavors and textures. He could do this for Cas. Absolutely.

“It’s…the crust is flakey, dry,” he started. ““Too dry on its own, but it has to be, or the filling would leak through it. It’s a bit sweet, kinda hard to explain the taste…more bland, because it supports the filling there, too, but still really _good_ somehow.”

Cas nodded and broke a piece of crust off the edge of his pie. He put it into his mouth and began chewing it with a look of intense concentration.

Dean watched as a small smile tugged at the angel’s lips. Clearly he was doing something right. He dipped his fork into the pie filling, then licked it clean.

“So the filling is sweet and spicy,” he explained. “For apple pie, you get cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice – the kind of things that remind you of fall – and a whole lot of sugar. It’s best when it’s really warm, because it’s gooier that way, and that may sound weird, but it’s actually awesome.”

Castiel smiled at him in earnest now, as he sampled some of the filling. Dean watched as he licked his lips, catching the bit of it that had dripped onto the bottom one.

“And then there’s the apples,” Dean continued, his voice huskier than he was used to. “Usually, apples are crisp, and the apples they use for pies are tart. In pie, they get all soft and spicy from baking. They’re still a little tart, but it’s better that way, because it balances the sweetness of the filling.”

Cas put an apple slice in his mouth, closing his eyes as he chewed and swallowed it. When he opened them again, they were wide with understanding. “That’s – that’’s very good, Dean,” he said slowly. “I tasted it – all of it, not just its parts. Thank you.”

Dean smiled. “Glad I could help. It would be a tragedy if you went the rest of your life without enjoying pie.”

Cas tilted his head. “After all we’ve been through, I’m not sure –”

“Trust me on this, Cas,” Dean interrupted. “It would be absolutely devastating.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I know I promised Sabriel, but hopefully some Destiel pre-slash will tide you over? And pranks? There was a prank in this one!.....
> 
> I have to say, 4 main personalities with 7 or so side characters has been much harder to wrangle than my usual cast of 2-4. Let me know what you think of how I'm handling them all. :)


	16. Broken Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm late! I've been interviewing all day, and I almost forgot when I got home!

Asariel was as good as her word; the next morning, she told them Metatron would meet them on the following day at a place not too far from the bunker.

In the meantime, Sam had suggested moving the angels to their new base in the nearby farmhouse and barn. With all the survivors and Gabriel’s angels constantly around, the place was feeling overrun, even with all the extra rooms in the bunker living space. Frankly, neither he nor Dean were used to having so many of the same people around them all the time, and it was making them uncomfortable.

So Sam found himself spending most of the next day with almost a hundred angels, making sure they got into the space alright.

Apparently, only angels with Seraphim or higher rank could manipulate space like Zachariah and Gabriel had when they brought the Winchesters to warehouses disguised as meeting rooms or television sets. So Anna had redesigned the interior of the place, as was the only one powerful enough to take on the task with Gabriel gone and Cas still unsure of his restored Grace. It now had several extra floors, with more than enough space for all the angels to spread out and even have their own rooms.

Sam was sitting on the floor of a workroom, setting up a bunch of computers (he didn’t ask where they came from) with a brand new internet connection (he also didn’t ask how that was set up), when Gabriel appeared, flying in from wherever he had been for the past day. Sam brushed his hair behind his ear and flashed the archangel a smile.

“Hey, kiddo,” Gabriel said, walking over to where Sam was working. “What’s new?”

“Kiddo?” Sam asked, remembering the kiss the archangel had planted on him just two days ago. “Really?”

“Everyone’s a kid compared to me,” Gabriel reminded him, leaning casually against one desk. “Well, except Dad and my big bros. But everyone you’re likely to see on earth.”

Sam frowned at the mention of the other archangels.  “We’re meeting with Metatron soon. Are you going to be good to come along?”

Gabriel raised one eyebrow. “Course I will. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, I thought – you know, with the thing that happened, when you attacked Abaddon,” Sam floundered, not wanting to insult the archangel, but not wanting him to be a liability either.

“Oh. That,” Gabriel said, looking down at his feet.

“What happened?” Sam asked.  “And where have you been?”

“Nowhere special,” Gabriel told him. “Checked in with a few friends, wanted their opinion on the magic thing. No dice, though –– no one knows this stuff better than me, apparently.” He looked up and smiled wryly at Sam. “Should have known being the most awesome god in the pantheon would have its drawbacks.”

“Humblest, too,” Sam commented, going back to the computer wires he had been working on.

“Come one, Sasquatch, let’s get out of here,” Gabriel said, pushing away from the table and walking up to Sam. “The angels will be down from Wisconsin soon, and you do not want to be caught in that circus.”

Sam looked down at the computer he was working on, and decided it could wait. He had some questions for the archangel, and now was as good a time as any to ask them. He stood up. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“You’ll see,” Gabriel told him. He snapped, and suddenly Sam felt soft grass beneath his feet. He looked around, realizing they were standing on the summit of a mountain.

A very tall mountain, at that, he realized as he looked over the cliff and down at the clouds below them.

“Thought you could use a change of scenery,” Gabriel told him, sitting on the ground.

“This _is_ pretty cool,” Sam said, lying down on his back beside him and staring up at the clear sky above. “So, what’s going on? Crowley said he saw magic on you, at war. What does that mean?”

Gabriel sighed. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

Sam shook his head. “Not likely.”

“Alright, I’ll try to explain. But it’s complicated, even for angels to understand. You might not get it all.”

“Try me,” Sam challenged.

“So, you already know that angels run on Grace. It’s our mojo, our batteries, whatever you want to call it.”

Sam nodded, indicating Gabriel to go on.

“Well, Grace comes in different flavors – or colors, actually. Most angels’ are pure white, but higher levels get different colors. Seraphim like Cas are more blue-white. Reapers have dark blue-black. Archangels get gold.”

“I saw that. When I was watching you in the Void,” Sam pointed out. “It looked like an aura.”

“Probably,” Gabriel told him. “It looks different to us, of course – but for now, that’ll do. That’s just about the only way your mind could process something like that.” He snapped up a couple of lollipops and handed one to Sam before he continued. Strawberry shortcake this time.

“So, me, I’ve got the gold Grace. Pagan gods have power, too though. It’s more magicky and way less holy, but that’s a lecture for the advanced class. For the sake of this conversation, think of it like Grace. My Trickster power happens to be green, which you probably also saw.”

Sam nodded, not taking the lollipop out of his mouth.

“Right, I’ve had that for centuries now. As long as I’ve been out of Heaven. Anna hates it, but it’s there.”

“And now you have the dark blue, from the dragon?”

“Exactly,” Gabriel said. “And it’s doing something funky with my other powers.”

Sam frowned. “Do you need it? Is there a way to get rid of it?”

“Not anymore; I’d be better off without it now that I’m back,” Gabriel said. “But it has to go somewhere; where would it go? Regular angels can’t withstand that much power, and even if they tried, it would probably mess with their Grace, too.  And I’m not just leaving it somewhere for someone like Metatron to get his hands on.”

“Then what are you going to do?” Sam asked.

“What I always do,” Gabriel said with a shrug. “Figure it out, and find a way to make it awesome.”

Sam allowed a small smile. “Sounds like a solid plan,” he said dryly. “I like how you went into the minute details.”

“Hey, this is _me_ we’re talking about,” Gabriel reminded him.

“Mmm,” Sam hummed his agreement around the candy in his mouth.

“Ok, no more work thoughts,” Gabriel told him. “We’re taking a break here; let’s do something fun.”

“Like what?” Sam asked.

“Ever been hang gliding before?” Gabriel asked, suddenly full of energy as he jumped up to his feet.

Sam looked up at him eyebrows raised. “Can you promise me that whatever we do, I’m not going to die today?”

Gabriel actually laughed at that. “Course I can,” he said, snapping up glider made for two. “You’re safe with me.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Sam said, standing.

“Aw, come on, Sam-a-lamb! It’ll be fun!” Gabriel moved into his personal space, close enough for Sam to smell whatever sweet shampoo he used in his hair. Or maybe Tricksters just smelled sweet? Sam was immediately reminded of the fleeting kiss from two nights ago, how his lips had tasted sweet after Gabriel disappeared. He wondered if the Trickster would kiss him again.

The _Trickster_. The being who made it his business to dole out just desserts, hurting people as he saw fit. Who tricked him and Dean more than once – and in some of the most hurtful ways. He had forgiven Gabriel enough to work with him, to be friends –– but more? What would his brother say? How could he possibly explain something like that to Dean?

He took a step back. “I think we ought to head home,” he said reluctantly. “I – uh, we have a lot to do. To research, and prep for Metatron.”

Sam hated the flash of disappointment he saw in Gabriel’s eyes.

“Yeah, no problem,” the Trickster said before he could apologize.

With a snap, Sam was back in his room at the bunker, alone.

 

…

 

Sam didn’t have much time to worry about Gabriel’s bad mood. That evening was quiet enough – the angels were all out at the farmhouse, welcoming the new ones back. Sam suspected it would be an awkward celebration at best, and the continuation of feuds that had ended in death at worst. He opted to stayed away completely.

But the next morning, he was up and assembling a small group in the bunker library: Asariel, Dean, Cas and himself would meet with Metatron. Remiel and Samandriel would be there to fly them in and out, and as backup in case they needed it. Gabriel was there as well, and there was an argument already.

“I’m coming,” Gabe said almost casually, sitting in a tilted-back chair with his feel on a table.

“You’re not,” Asariel told him. “Metatron was very clear. If you want him to show, you won’t be there.”

“Gabriel, we’ll keep the Winchesters safe, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Remiel told him, apparently not at all scared of the consequences of embarrassing the archangel.

“That’s not –” Gabriel started petulantly, but then shut his mouth and regained what he could of his careless façade. “Fine. Whatever you want.”

He snapped his fingers and blinked out of the room, gone to sulk somewhere no doubt.

Asariel turned back to the others. “Are we ready then?” she asked.

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Dean said.

Sam closed his eyes as Samandriel put a hand on his shoulder. A moment later, his stomach was turning with the shock of angel flight, and he opened his eyes to find himself in a nondescript parking lot.

Metatron and Gadreel were already there, watching them with interest. Sam set his jaw stoically, willing himself not to glare at the angel who had deceived him. It was a difficult thing, especially when Asariel crossed the space between them primly, clearly stating her allegiance.

“Wings? How did you –” Gadreel began in awe.

“Not important,” Metatron interrupted him, though Sam could see his consternation as well. “I’m told you want to negotiate a truce.”

“Temporary truce,” Dean said. “You don’t get Heaven forever, but we can’t worry about you while Abaddon’s still on our radar.”

“Ah, the little Knight that could. Asariel filled me in,” Metatron told them.

Cas nodded slightly. “Then you know that she’s trying to invade Heaven, using angels as sacrifices.”

“Castiel! So nice to see you and your new Grace. How’s it working out for you there?” Metatron asked snidely. “Any kinks yet? Do you feel burning when you fly? – oh, silly me, I _forgot_!”

“My Grace is not the matter at hand here,” Castiel said evenly. “If Abaddon reaches Heaven –”

“She can try,” Metatron interrupted. Sam wanted to punch the smirk off his face, but he just clenched his fists and listened instead as the angel continued. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’ve been upgraded. I think I can handle a single Knight of Hell.”

 

...

 

From the shadows, Gabriel watched the proceedings.

He had many talents, but disguise was the most finely honed. Even now, with his powers backfiring, he could stand in the same small lot as his brothers, completely invisible to them.

Metatron was a dick. Right up there with Michael and Lucifer. That wouldn’t be a problem if he was a regular angel, but he still had that odd violet-white power around him, enhancing the dull shine of his small Grace.

It was making him overconfident. And just a bit too aggressive. Gabriel could feel every hair in his vessel stand on end as he watched Metatron sneer at the Winchesters and their angels. Something was coming. He just didn’t know when.

Gabriel sneered as Metatron taunted Castiel about his wings. This guy had _no_ class.

Metatron leaned in close to Castiel, all sleaze and tacky bravado. “You know what?” he asked. “I’d have you tell your pet archangel to take care of it, but I don’t think you’re going to get a chance.” He stepped back and chuckled to himself. “Huh. I always wanted to say that kind of one-liner.”

That was apparently the cue, because six more angels suddenly appeared. From the looks of their tattered wings, they couldn’t have flown – could Metatron have brought them here somehow?

Gabriel couldn’t think too hard on it, because they were attacking the Winchesters. Without a thought he flew in front of Sam, blade out, shielding him from the smiting hand of one angel. Beside him, Castiel was protecting Dean. Samandriel was positioned between the three of them, while Remiel was taking care of two of the angels who had tried to attack them from behind.

He looked at Metatron and saw him arguing with Gadreel. Eden’s guard was agitated confused – Gabriel almost whistled. Had Metatron even kept this from his main groupie?

“Alfie, time to fly!” he cried, knowing the kid would understand what he meant.

He parried with the angel attacking him for another moment – just long enough for Samandriel to get Castiel and the Winchesters out of there – then drew power from his pagan half. If his Grace wasn’t working as planned, at least that magic should.

He remembered last time. An offensive strike against Metatron wouldn’t work, but there were eight other angels around them, not counting Remiel, and Gabriel could target each one of them.

He spread his wings in a silent threat, then let his magic fly.

It exploded as soon as it was free, and everything went dark.

 

…

 

Sam was caught completely unaware when Samandriel caught his shoulder and swept him back to the bunker in a gut-wrenching flight. He had actually been halfway turned and about to attack the angel when the world shifted uncomfortably around them, finally materializing in the bunker library.

“Jeeze, give a guy some warning!” Dean snapped as Sam fell to his knees. The flight had been a bad one, even by angel standards.

Samandriel shook his head, his vessel’s features looking particularly young. “There wasn’t time. Gabriel needed you out of there.”

“All three of us?” Castiel asked. He, at least, still seemed unaffected by angelic travel, even without wings of his own. “I could be helping there.”

“You didn’t have another escape route,” Samandriel reminded him.

Sam watched as the two angels stared at each other, challenging the other. He was surprised to see Cas lower his eyes first. “You’re right, of course,” he admitted sadly.

Sam was about to say something comforting to his friend, but the sound of a sudden flap of wings stopped him.

Remiel was suddenly in the library with them, holding an unconscious Gabriel. The archangel looked especially small and pale against his massive arms.

“Remiel. What happened?” Cas asked, as Sam rushed over to get a look at the Trickster.

“I don’t know,” the dark skinned angel told them, consternation brewing beneath the calm of his voice. “He was attacking the other angels, and then he collapsed. I’m just a foot soldier – I don’t know magic, or what he was doing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Gabriel doesn’t exactly adhere to the Enochian traditions of magic,” Castiel remarked, stepping up to them with Dean on his heels.

Sam reached out to take Gabriel’s pulse, only belatedly realizing that the steady beat couldn’t tell him anything about the angel inside the vessel. “Is he alive?” Sam asked. “Will he wake up?”

“The archangel Gabriel is still in this vessel,” Remiel assured him. “But will he wake up –?” He looked to Castiel for guidance.

“I’ve never seen an archangel in a state like this,” Cas said worriedly. “But I think he will recover, given time. For now, all we can give him is rest.”

Sam quickly went through the possibilities. There were plenty of extra rooms in the bunker, but the few they had cleaned and cleared of dust were currently taken up by Garth and the other survivors. Could an angel clean a room with a thought, like they cleaned their clothes?

“Bring him to my bunk,” Sam said impulsively. “He can rest there for now.”

Remiel nodded, and Sam realized a bit too late that he was still holding Gabriel’s wrist at the pulse point when the other angel took flight, and Remiel must have found it prudent to take him with them. Sam braced himself a second too late, but was relieved to find it was a smoother ride than Samandriel’s hurried flight.

He took a few breaths to recover while Remiel put Gabriel down on the bed.

“I guess I’ll sit with him,” Sam said, pulling up a chair. “He’’s gonna need someone here when he wakes up.”

“Is there anything you need?” Remiel asked in that deep, rumbling voice.

“Let Dean know where I am,” he told the angel. “And have someone make up an empty room for me, in case I need it tonight. Dean or Anna will know what I need.”

Remiel nodded. “We’ll be back later to check on him. Pray for us if anything changes, please.”

 “How about I text you? Or Cas?” Sam suggested, not liking the idea of praying to a strange angel.

“That will work as well,” he agreed. Sam heard his wings flap as he flew out of the room.

Sam picked up a book and attempted to read it, though even he would admit that he did little more than stare at the pages, lost in his worry for the archangel.


	17. Day of Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO sorry this is late! Work + Rise Against show today = VERY busy Rosaleen. Very tired, euphoric & bruised Rosaleen.
> 
> But I DID edit this at work, even though I won't go on AO3 there, so it's set and ready for you all to read now. Enjoy! <3

 

Dean watched as Remiel whisked Sam away with Gabriel, then pivoted to turn to Cas.

“We need to talk,” he told the angel, not bothering to disguise his anger. He glanced at Alfie, and then added. “Alone.”

“What’s wrong Dean? I can assure you Samandriel –” Cas started.

“It’s not about Samandriel,” Dean said, throwing an apologetic look at the kid. “It’s about you.”

Samandriel cleared his throat. “It’s ok, I have to debrief Anna,” he said. Then he was gone with a flap of wings. And man, Dean should be used to that by now, but it was still disconcerting.

Cas leveled an exasperated look at Dean. “With Metatron uninterested in our help, and Gabriel catatonic, what have I done that is so important we discuss it now?” he asked.

“It’s what you didn’t do,” Dean told him, anger swelling with his words. “Once again, you decided not to clue us in to what’s going on with you.” He stalked up to the angel, stopping when their faces were only inches apart. “What’s with your Grace?”

Cas’s eyes fell immediately, a sure sign of guilt. “I didn’t want it to be an issue.”

“Cas.” Dean said warningly.

Castiel sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he tried again.

Dean glared.

“My Grace,” Castiel started at last, his voice stilted and uncertain, “or, the Grace I possess…is not my own. “

“What does that mean?” Dean asked, forcing his voice to be calmer.

“I don’t know,” Cas told him. “I……I had to kill Theo anyway, if I was going to get away from Malachi. I took his Grace when I did.”

Dean nodded, silently inviting Cas to go on. He could see that his friend was wracked with guilt over it, but Dean couldn’t blame him. In their line of work, getting their hands dirty was just part of the job. And he had stopped trying to save Cas from the job when he had gotten his mojo back.

“To my knowledge, that had never been done before,” Castiel continued. “There’s no precedent for this.”

“What’s it doing to you?” Dean asked. “What did Metatron mean?””

Cas let his head fall, his lips pressed together in a sad frown. “This Grace was not meant for me, Dean,” he said after a moment, looking up to catch Dean’s eyes with his blue ones. “Not only is it not mine, but I’m a Seraphim now. Theo was a foot soldier. His Grace – it doesn’t fit. It’s burning out.”

“Burning out?” Dean asked. “So, like when you were cut off during the apocalypse? Like, you’re going to become human again?”

Cas broke their eye contact, looking down again. “Possibly,” the angel said. “But only if I’m very lucky. And I don’t think it’s likely.”

“Shit, Cas,” Dean swore. “It’s burning _you_ out.”

Castiel nodded solemnly. And no, that was _not_ okay. Dean had come far too close to losing this goddamn angel too many times already. He was not going through that again.

“Shit,” he swore again. “How long?”

Castiel shrugged. “Months, definitely. At least two. Perhaps even four or five.”

“ _Two months_? Seriously?” Dean asked, not letting himself panic, though he wanted to.  “How do we fix it?””

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Without my own Grace, I don’t think we can.”

Dean frowned and turned around, pacing. “Then we get your Grace back.”

“That requires unraveling Metatron’s spell,” Castiel reminded him. He didn’t have to say how unlikely that was in the given time frame.

Dean sighed. “Then Gabriel –”

“Gabriel is unconscious, and we don’t know when he’ll wake up,” Castiel reminded Dean tiredly.

“All the more reason why _you_ should have brought this up earlier,” Dean snapped.  He took a breath. “That damn archangel better wake up.”

“There’s no guarantee that Gabriel will have any way to fix this,” Castiel said.

“He’d better have one!” Dean snapped, more than willing to swallow his pride and forget his distaste for Gabriel if it could help Cas. “Dammit, Cas! When are you going to learn to _ask_ for help when you need it?”

 

…

 

Gabriel stirred in his sleep. Sam tossed the paperback back onto his nightstand and leaned in to get a better look at him.

“Sammich? That you?” Gabriel asked hoarsely.

“It’s Sam,” Sam told him, relief flooding over him.

“Good,” the archangel said. “Come here.”

“I’m right here,” Sam said, worried that the archangel couldn’t see him so close. He put a reassuring hand on Gabriel’s shoulder.

“No, here,” the angel moaned, shifting slightly to make more room on the bed for Sam.

 “That bed’s really only made for one,” he pointed out, as though talking to a child.

Gabriel lifted his arm a few inches and snapped. Nothing happened, and he frowned. “Power’s drained,” he explained after a moment. ““It’ll take some time to recharge. Come _here.”_

Sam let out a little laugh at the petulance in his voice. “Ok, fine,” he said, toeing off his shoes and climbing onto the bed, over the covers. He arranged himself so he was sitting at the head of the bed, and Gabriel automatically rolled over to rest his face on Sam’’s leg.

“Better,” he said. He closed his eyes, relaxing into what looked like sleep – though Sam knew angels didn’t need that.

“Are you going to be ok?” Sam asked, lazily drawing his fingers through Gabriel’s hair.

“Hmmm,” Gabriel sighed. “Just need some time. Meditating now. Keep doing that.”

Sam let himself relax, then pulled out his phone. He sent a quick message to Cas, letting him know Gabriel was conscious but resting, and to tell the others to give him some time before they came down. Then he picked up his book and began to read, fingers still in the angel’s hair.

 

... 

 

Sam hated his life.

He realized this as he woke up, still in his jeans, sitting awkwardly at the head of his bed. Both legs were asleep. His back muscles were cramped and tight, unwilling to flex after a night against a cold wall. And the crick in his neck pinched in just the worst way possible, giving him a splitting headache.

“Good morning, Samsquatch!” Gabriel exclaimed, far too loud and cheerful for Sam’s mood. His head was on a pillow instead of Sam’’s thigh, but he had one arm thrown carelessly over Sam’s shins. Sam noticed his book lying just over Gabriel’s head on the pillow, page lost from when he had haphazardly put it down at some point in the night.

“No, not good morning,” Sam complained. “Bad morning. Terrible morning.”

Gabriel frowned up at him. “What’s up, Buttercup?”

Sam scowled at the nickname. “Humans were not meant to sleep like that,” he explained sourly.

“Oh, right,” Gabriel said. He looked a little distant. “I should have felt that, huh? Let me –”

Before Sam could react, he felt the soothing flow of Grace wash over him, spreading into his poor muscles and reviving them. Sam relaxed into it, allowing himself to sigh in relief as the headache cleared. He felt refreshed as the Grace ebbed and finally left his body altogether.

“Better?” Gabriel asked.

“Much,” Sam told him. “Thanks.”

“Neniu problemo, infano,” Gabriel told him with a strange accent, stretching languidly. “I’m the one who put you out of a bed last night.”

Sam raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“What, you don’t know Esperanto? What have you been doing with your life?” Gabriel teased.

“Apparently nothing important,” Sam said dryly, rolling his eyes. He moved to get off the bed, but Gabriel stopped him with a hand on his leg.

“Aw, I was just kidding,” Gabriel said. “We all know you have that brooding hero thing going on.”

“I don’t brood,” Sam told him.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow disbelievingly.

“I’m going to brush my teeth,” Sam said, moving to actually get up and off the bed.

“Fine,” Gabriel huffed, letting him go. “Our brothers are making breakfast. I told Cas to bring it up here. They want to talk.”

Sam nodded, not at all surprised. He reached for his door, then pivoted and asked. “What about you? How are you doing?”

Gabriel looked surprised by the question. “Not bad, not bad,” he said, his voice light, but Sam could hear that it was forced.

“Really?” he asked skeptically.

“Well, I’m not 100%, if that’s what you’re asking,” Gabriel said. “But I’m better than I was yesterday.”

“That’s a pretty low bar,” Sam pointed out.

Gabriel shrugged, looking unconcerned. “I’ll take what I can get. We’ll figure the rest out.”

Sam thought he could see right through him – see the tension, uncertainty in the archangel – but he didn’t press the matter. He just nodded, then left the room.

 

…

 

Twenty minutes later, Sam was back on his bed, plate of omelet and hash browns balanced on his lap, and coffee on the nightstand beside him. Gabriel was beside him, and Dean and Cas were seated around the bed.

Sam knew his brother was a pain in the ass sometimes, but every now and again he remembered how he couldn’t survive without him. Seeing him walk in with a tray of coffee cups this morning had been one of those times.

Cas had brought in breakfast for three – eggs & potatoes for him and Dean, and a giant pile of chocolate chip pancakes topped with powdered sugar and fruit for Gabriel. It was obviously suspicious, and Sam was half-expecting another prank, but he didn’t care. The food smelled too good, and he tucked into it enthusiastically.

“So, we need to talk,” Dean said without preamble, as Sam chewed. “Cas is burning out.”

“What?” Sam asked, dropping his fork and looking at his friend. “What do you mean, ‘burning out’?”

“The Grace I’m using is not my own,” Castiel explained. “I –– it’s not compatible, I think.”

Gabriel let out a low whistle. “I was wondering, bro,” he said softly, looking at his brother intently. His brow furrowed, confused, as he seemed to look through the other angel. “How did you do it?”

“It’s not important,” Castiel said, but Sam could see a flash of guilt in his eyes.

“What’s important is how we get him back up to snuff,” Dean interjected, staring at Gabriel pointedly.

“Knew you were buttering me up for something, Dean-o,” Gabriel said, but the gregarious humor Sam would expect with those words was absent. “I don’t know if you noticed the whole catatonic archangel coming back yesterday, what with your fixation on this one, but I don’t know what you expect _me_ to do.”

“You’re the archangel,” Dean said sourly.

Gabriel sighed. “Look, I don’t know what’s up with my own Grace right now. What can I do about Cassie’s?”

Dean frowned, and Cas put a hand on his shoulder. “I thought as much.”

 “So what can we do?” Dean asked. His voice was strong, but to Sam, the look in his brother’s eyes was just _broken._ “We have to be able to fix this somehow.”

Sam bit his lip, thinking.

“The Angel Tablet?” Dean asked. “If we get it from Metatron – it would kill two birds, right? It should have something in there.”

“No one knows how to read the Tablet except Metatron,” Castiel reminded him. “The prophets are dead, and he erased the line.””

“Well we need to get that Tablet either way,” Gabriel told them. “If nothing else, that’ll stop that twerp from getting swept up in his delusions of grandeur.”

Castiel nodded. “How do we even get to him?” he asked.

Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows. “Oh, baby bro. Didn’t you get it? I know all of Heaven’s  back doors.”

Sam raised his eyebrows questioningly at Gabriel.

“I can sneak us in,” Gabriel told them. “But I apparently can’t do anything to neutralize him. Unless you have any ideas?” He looked around the room expectantly.

“What about those charms – the ones that the demons used? Would they work on Metatron?” Sam asked.

Gabriel looked at him with a smirk. “That could work,” he said. “That could definitely work.”

“One problem. Even if we get the angel tablet, we can’t read it. How do we open up Heaven, get the angels back in there before Abaddon breaks in? And how do we fix _this_?”” Dean asked, gesturing at Cas emphatically.

Cas looked at Dean sadly. “We need a Prophet, Dean,” Castiel told him. “My Grace is tied to Metatron’s spell, and I can’t get it back if we don’t know how to unravel it. There’s no one left to read the Angel Tablet, though –– if indeed the key is even there. Not anymore.”

Sam frowned, thinking – trying to remember _anything_ that could help Cas in this situation.

“There might be one option,” Gabriel piped up, his voice softer than Sam was used to. Hesitant.

Sam looked at the archangel questioningly. Gabriel looked so lost, Sam had a fleeting thought to put a hand on his knee for support. He didn’t though, instead simply urging him on with his eyes.

“Dad. He’s in the Void,” Gabriel explained, looking at Castiel apologetically, as though he were personally responsible for Cas’’s failed search. “I might be able to open another gateway there – see if I could talk with Him.”

“Might?” Sam asked.

Gabriel gave a half shrug. “I’d need the support of the other angels. Specifically, I’d need the other angels to channel their Grace into me; Raph did it last time.” He sighed. “Even if I can, He only knows if He’ll talk to me.”

“With your powers not working properly…” Castiel prompted.

Gabriel nodded. “It’s dangerous. Not just for me, but for all the angels.”

Dean frowned, then looked at Cas. Sam could see his brother’s resolve in the set of his jaw and the dark shadow in his eyes. “Doesn’t matter. I may not be the biggest fan of your bastard of a Father, but he’s the best shot we’ve got.”

 

…

 

Gabriel could only stand about an hour of planning and arguing before he had to ask Dean and Castiel to leave. Dean had listened guiltily as he went on about his weakened wings, and how he was still recovering most of his power. It felt _wrong_ , seeing an archangel invalided like a human, and Dean hoped he would recover with rest.

That did leave him some time to catch up with the other guests

“Alright, Garth, bring me up to speed,” Dean said, sitting down at the meeting table in the bunker.  Cas was on one side of him, Garth the other. The other survivors, with the exception of the little girl, Emily, were sitting around the table.

“Pretty simple, really,” Garth said. “Jennifer and Emily need to make their way back to Texas.  George and Will need a lift back to their ride –– also in Texas. And Caroline and I are staying.”

“Staying?” Dean asked, raising one eyebrow at Garth. “Seriously?”

“We can do the most good here,” Caroline cut in to explain to him. “And I did tell you I wanted to see more of this place.”

“Don’t you have a family to get back to?” Dean asked, probably more rudely than he should have.

The older woman glared at him, the same way he remembered Ellen glaring more than once. “They know where I am, and they’re fine where they are. I’ll head home when I feel like my work is done here.”

“Great,” Dean said, not bothering to mask his sarcasm.

“C’mon, Dean. This’ll be fun. Just like a sleepover!” Garth told him.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, ok. Let’s see about getting the others home. Cas?”

Castiel nodded. “We’ll take care of it.”

Dean spared a smile for the angel. It felt good, being able to count on him again.

Who knew how long it would last? The thought made his chest tighten and his mood darken further.

“Cool beans,” Garth said, smiling like the idiot Dean suspected he was.

“Cas, let me know when they’re out of here. Please?” Dean asked, standing up to leave.

“Of course,” Cas said, rising from his chair as well. “I’ll have one of the angels take him tonight.”

They walked out of the room and toward the kitchen in silence, waiting until the others were out of earshot before they spoke again.

“Getting good at this leader thing, huh?” Dean asked, noticing the ease by which Cas was doling out responsibilities lately.

“Actually, I think that’s you,” Cas told him. “I’m just delegating.”

Dean looked at him in surprise. “I’m not a leader, Cas,” he said. “Hell, I don’t even like people.”

Castiel shrugged – an odd gesture to see on the angel, but one he had picked up as a human. “For now, you may have to be. We have too many humans and angels around here, and Gabriel is the only other one they’ll follow.”

“No,” Dean said immediately. “The angels can do what they want, but he is _not_ our leader.”

Cas gave him a knowing look. “Would you want Sam, then? You know I won’t lead, even if I was sure I would be here…”

“You _will_ be here,” Dean snapped. Then, “We do this thing by committee. Committee being you, me and Sam. Just like we always do.”

 

…

 

Sam tried to stay away from his room (and Gabriel) after the archangel had asked to table the discussion of plans so he could recover. Although Gabriel had told him that he could stay, he still wasn’t sure he wanted to disturb the angel’s rest.

So he spent most of the day busying himself: working out, checking in on the survivors, working on a grocery list with Caroline…mundane tasks that distracted him from the bigger issues at hand.

By dinner, he found himself drawn back to the archangel in his room. So he loaded a plate with cold turkey, fresh fruit (hopefully sweet enough for the Trickster), cheese and crackers, and brought it down to where Gabriel was still resting. Gabriel seemed happy enough to see him, making room on the bed for Sam to sit beside him, and digging into the fresh fruit with a grateful smile.

Sam ate his meal in silence at first, just contemplating the being beside him. It was odd, how familiar he found Gabriel’s quick gestures and expressive eyebrows, how easily he could see the sadness in the archangel’s eyes – how much he wanted to ease it. It reminded him of another time, when he was still young enough to be idealistic, before he knew anything of demon blood or angelic schemes.

“Is it safe?” he asked at last, no longer willing to listen to only his own thoughts.

“Safe?” Gabriel asked. “You should know by now: nothing’s really safe. What specific activity are you referring to, though?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Opening the gate. Talking to God.”

“No,” Gabriel said, shaking his head. “That is definitely not safe. It’s actually the very opposite of safe. Last time I almost died. For real. I think I was disintegrating into the gate, until Raph lent me a hand.”

“Why then?” Sam asked. “Why risk it?”

Gabriel gave a half shrug. “Same as always: they’re my brothers. I think I missed that point the first time around,” he admitted.

Sam nodded serenely. There was so much about Gabriel that had changed – even as so much was still familiar. He still wasn’t sure what to do with that information.

The Trickster gave him a wry smile. “No reason to dwell on that, though – we have to sneak up to Heaven first anyway. We should be placing bets on who lives through that before we think too hard on the next adventure!”

Sam glared at him. “I’m hoping we all live.”

Gabriel sighed. “Ok, lighten up.”

Sam continued to glare.

“You have to learn to smile more, Sasquatch,” Gabriel told him. “You used to smile a lot for a kid in your line of work.”

“I used to do a lot differently,” Sam told him, looking down at the assortment of cheeses on his plate. “A lot’s changed.”

He didn’t need to look up to know that Gabriel was looking at him; the angel’s stare weighed heavily enough. “Yeah,” he agreed at last. “I guess it has.”

Tentatively, the archangel reached a hand out and touched Sam’s bare forearm, just resting his fingers against his skin. Sam looked down at the contact curiously, then allowed his face to soften into a smile.

“Think you’re up to getting to the lounge for a movie?” he asked, not really knowing how Gabe would react after their last movie night.

“I think so – and if not, I think you have more than enough muscle to carry the both of us. I’m getting pretty bored of this room,”” Gabe said flirtatiously. “Would it kill you to put up some posters or something?”

Sam laughed, a quiet puff of air. So, movie nights could be a thing. A normal, everyday, _human_ thing that he just happened to do with an archangel.

“Yeah, I wanted to start making this a home,” he said softly, not really sure if he was lying or not. “I was getting around to it.”

 

...

 

That night found Dean in his room, lying on his bed in flannel pants and an old tee-shirt. Half a bottle of Jack stood on his nightstand, and the other half already in his system.

He should be doing something – he knew that. Pranking Sammy, or at least figuring out his next retaliation. Checking up on their unwanted guests, or talking to Samandriel about those angel control charms.

Instead, he was fixated on Castiel. Cas, his best friend and angel, who had just come back from his brief stint with humanity.

A stint Dean had left him alone for, pushed away and into the world because Dean decided to trust another angel with Sam’s life instead. Because Dean thought he knew what was best for everyone, when he could barely take care of himself. Fuck.

He took another swig of the bourbon, barely grimacing at the taste.

Two months. There had to be something they could do – some way to make sure that Grace didn’t take Cas with it when it went out. He’d learned his lesson –– if the Grace was gone and Cas was human again, he’s at least be human _with Dean_ this time. Dean and Sam. They’d teach him to be a hunter, like he had asked at first. They’d make sure he knew how to handle himself – never felt so damn useless that he felt he had to make a choice like that. Never have to choose a path that could kill him, feel the need to use Grace that didn’t fit.

Or, they would if Cas survived at all.

This was all Dean’s fault. He knew it was. Even without the drunken haze, he had known it. Cas would have never taken that Grace if Dean had just _let him stay._

His doorknob turned, and he had a gun in his hand and trained at the entryway in seconds. Even drunk, those reflexes were sharp.

“Dean,” Castiel said, pushing through the open door, that stupid trench coat looking way too warm and nerdy and fucking perfect all the same.

Dean dropped his gun at the sound of his friend’s voice. “What do you need, Cas?” he asked. The words sounded too harsh to his ears.

Castiel let himself into the room and closed the door behind him. “I don’t need anything,” he said softly, dropping to the bed beside Dean.

“Then why are you here?” Dean asked after it was clear the angel wasn’t going to continue.

“I was concerned,” Castiel admitted, taking the bottle of Jack and replacing its top before putting it down on the ground, out of the way and out of reach. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Dean snorted. “We share a ‘profound bond’?” he asked snidely.

“That we do.” Castiel nodded, acting for all the world as though he still didn’t understand inflection or sarcasm, even Dean knew damn well that he did. Damn angel.

“I’m scared, too,” Castiel admitted softly, his voice small and broken in the silence of the room. “I – I’ve died before, but not like this, wasting away like a sick human. I don’t want to die like this.”

“You’re not going to die,” Dean snapped. “We won’’t let you.”

Cas looked down at his hands sadly. “I hope, for my sake, that you’re right,” he said at last.

Then he looked up, considering Dean with a hopeful, resolved expression. “You need sleep. I thought I’d stay here. I – you know I don’t need sleep, but it would make me feel better.”

Dean shrugged at his friend, trying for nonchalance. “Anything you need, buddy.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said. He stood to take off his trench coat and tie and throw them over a chair before toeing off his shoes, and Dean took the opportunity to climb under his covers.

To his surprise, Castiel came back and climbed under them as well, pressing close to Dean in the small bed. His arms came around Dean, and in his drunk state, Dean couldn’t help leaning into them.

He inhaled deeply, taking in the angel’s scent. He wished – suddenly and fervently – that this had happened more between them. That this had been a familiar position, instead of novel.

He cursed the universe again, angry that he may have so little time left with Cas.

“Sleep, Dean,” Castiel said, his voice a soft command.

Dean closed his eyes and obeyed, comfortable and warm. Honestly, he would have given Cas anything he needed to feel better, ease his fears. He was incredibly glad, though, to give him this.


	18. Heavenly Heist, Part 1

 

All Sam wanted to do was get to heaven and deal with this goddamn scribe already.

It had taken Gabriel only a couple of days to recover from their last encounter with Metatron, and almost all of that time had been spent planning. Most of what wasn’t spent planning was spent in the lounge, either with Gabriel or with a larger group of humans and angels, watching movies or television Gabriel insisted they marathon. Garth, Samandriel, Anna and Remiel almost always joined them, but Gabriel would usually also bring in one or two angels Sam didn’t know, insisting they expand their horizons.

The rest of the time, he found himself in the gym, trying to clear his head in the aftermath of the time in the lounge. It was so weird for him – so _normal_ for anyone else – to have that time. To sit there and watch new blockbusters and old sci-fi shows as if it was something he’d always done – something that belonged in his life somehow. Something he deserved.

Gabriel had left his room after that first night. His wings were the first to recover, and after the movie, he had flown off somewhere for more rest. But he still sat close to Sam in the lounge, or sought him out during the day. Sam wasn’t sure what to do with that.

And through the days, Dean and Castiel became withdrawn, present for planning and strategizing, but otherwise on their own. Dean was clearly torn apart over Cas’s predicament, and Cas seemed to be distracting himself by supporting Dean. Their prank war was at a standstill.

There was nothing Sam could do about the situation, and that made it all worse. The waiting, watching his brother break down while his own life melted into something like the normalcy he’d always wanted – something he’d have to give up again when all of this was over, and the angels were back in heaven – it was all driving him mad. He needed to do something – needed to hunt down Metatron, kill Abaddon, _something_ to make him feel useful. He needed to feel as though he was earning this respite.

 By the time Gabriel was well enough to participate in the first part of their plan – breaking into heaven, subduing Metatron and stealing back the Angel Tablet – Sam was chomping at the bit. It had only been six days since their last encounter with Metatron, but that was five days too many for Sam.

“Jeeze, you’re like a nervous terrier,” Gabriel teased him as they sat around the conference table in the bunker, Sam bouncing his leg and playing with a pencil. “Think you can take that stealth upgrade before we get out of here? Or are you going to fidget away our element of surprise?”

Sam shot a heatless glare at the archangel. “I just want to get going already,” he said. “It’s been a week.”

He looked between the others in his raiding party – only Remiel and Gabriel – and noted that they both stood angel-still, stiff and uncomfortable in their hosts. He’d known Cas long enough to know that meant they were just as uneasy as he was. They had kept the group small purposefully; even with more, they wouldn’t be able to defend against Metatron and the Tablet. The only protection they could hope for before they reached their target was their ability to move unseen. 

Even those who were not going looked uncomfortable, Sam noticed – Dean was stiff and brooding, while Cas and Anna were sitting unnaturally still and silent.

Remiel nodded. “I agree; I would like to get started as well.”

“Well you’re gonna have to hold your horses a few more minutes,” Dean told them. “I want to make sure we’re clear on these plans.”

“Really?” Sam asked. They had only gone over this a dozen times so far – it wasn’t like they had any changes to add now. “Remiel, Gabe and I are going to Gabriel’s hidden entrance. We’ll sneak in – Gabriel will lead the way, Remiel will guard me, and I’ll have the amulet. When we get to Metatron’s HQ, Gabe will get the tablet while Remiel and I subdue him.”

“Cause it’ll be that easy,” Dean said sarcastically. “Oh, and you forgot the part where you’re leaving your body behind. I don’t like it.”

Sam sighed, but kept his mouth shut, letting Gabriel answer him.

“Sorry about that, Deano, but it’s got to happen, like it or not,” Gabriel said, his voice light, but with a hint of real empathy. “We’ll go as far as we can as we are, but it would do Sam’s body more harm than good to go into Heaven like that. Remember what seeing an angel does? It’s like that times a million.”

Dean frowned. “There’s got to be something we can do.”

“I can go,” Castiel volunteered from his seat at the table.  He looked to the angel at his left imploringly. “Anael and I could stay with Sam’s body while they’re gone.”

“Then I’m coming, too,” Dean said stubbornly.

“No,” Sam told him. “We need you here with Garth and Caroline, figuring out what Abaddon’s up to. We’ve been over this.”

Dean heaved a sigh. “Fine, but I still don’t like it,” he gritted out.

“Don’t worry!” Gabriel told him. “We’’ll bring you back some pie.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Can we get going now? Please?”

“Sure thing,” Gabriel said, reaching out for him.

Dean put up one hand, pausing Gabriel’s flight. “You take care of yourself, you hear me?” he said to Sam, voice gruff.

“I will,” Sam told him. “You, too.”

He looked back at Gabriel and nodded. He watched Anna put her hand on Castiel’s arm, reading them for flight, and then closed his eyes.

 

…

 

Sam was always grateful when he flew with Gabriel; of all the angels, he seemed to have the most control, and the smoothest flights. Sam wondered if that came with being an archangel, or from being among humans for so long. Possibly both.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself standing in a small church, indistinguishable from any other he had been to.

“Where are we?” he asked, looking up at the stained glass murals.

“Nova Scotia. This is the site where the first angel died, before the first war,” Gabriel told him solemnly. “There wasn’t supposed to be anything that could kill an angel when Erendriel died. Even I don’t know what happened, but I was home, and he was calling to me for help when it happened. This place is still tied to me, and to Heaven.”

Sam nodded. “The church?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Saint Gabriel the Peacemaker. Humans have a way of picking up on bits and pieces, and putting them together all wrong – Erendriel was the peacemaker.”

“I don’t remember him,” Castiel said, his voice betraying his confusion.

“You wouldn’t,” Gabriel told him, voice still serious.

The Trickster sighed as if bored, and straightened his back. “Right. Enough reminiscing – we have a party to crash. Let’s go.””

“Sam,” Castiel said, gesturing toward the carpeted floor behind the altar. “Lay down, it’ll be easier.”

Sam nodded, walking up and lying down. It felt strange, laying there in the middle of a church, crucifix staring down at him, but he trusted the angels. He trusted Castiel, and Gabriel.

Cas lowered one finger to Sam’s forehead in an oddly familiar gesture, and Sam felt a slight shock run through his body.

He was disoriented for a moment – the world drained away, then seemed to build back up around him – and then he found himself staring down at his own body. Beside it, Castiel and Anna glowed bright blue-white in their vessels. Sam squinted, almost seeing wings behind Anna, the battered skeleton of wings behind Cas.

And then Gabriel’s hand was on his arm, distracting him. “That’s enough of that, Sammich,” Gabriel said. “You may not be in danger of having your eyes burn out of your socket like this, but it’s still not a good idea to stare directly into the sun.”

Sam turned to look at Gabriel sheepishly –

And was caught, blindsided by the beauty of Gabriel. He could still see the small, impish vessel the archangel wore – but he could also see the _archangel._ And not as he had seen him in the Void: mostly human with the just the aura of power. Here, like this, he could see three bright sets of golden wings, larger than anything he had ever seen before, stretching out beyond the confines of the chapel and mixing in with the bright white of his Grace near his heart. Strands of fresh green power lit them up, woven through them, around them – a living thing, breathing life into Gabriel’s form. And around it all was the dark blue of the dragon, sparking and crackling against the green, woven into the gold and white.

“Whoa,” Sam breathed, not fully conscious of the word.

“And that’s enough of that,” Gabriel said, bringing a finger to Sam’s forehead. Sam could see the green and white interlaced in the digit, playing together happily.

Gabriel did _something_ to him, and suddenly the world shifted back into normal focus. The white Grace still glowed softly around each of the angels, and if Sam concentrated hard, he thought he might be able to see the other colors around Gabriel, but they were muted, almost invisible again.

“Sorry, Sam-bear, it’s for your own good,” Gabriel told him, voice actually apologetic.

“Are we ready?” Remiel asked, his voice calm and collected, and somehow still ringing with impatience.

“Sure are,” Gabriel told him. “Right this way.”

Gabriel walked up to the crucifix, and through something just behind it. Sam couldn’t quite make it out, and he squinted at it, trying to figure out where they were going.

Before he got a chance, Gabriel grabbed his wrist and pulled him through, rushing him into this next adventure. As soon as he passed the threshold, everything went dark.

…        

 

_Heaven has griffins._

That was the first thing Sam thought when he came back to himself.

He had been here before, hadn’t he? There weren’t griffins then. What were they doing here now?

 _Weird,_ he thought.

Then, one of the griffins had its beak right in Sam’s face.

 _Terrifying,_ he amended, grabbing for his knife – a knife which would probably not do much against a predator approximately five times his size.

“Are you sure it was wise to bring it here?” a deep voice growled behind him.

The griffin over him shoved the smooth curve its beak into Sam’s chest, almost curiously. Sam froze, eyes trained on

“Wise? No,” Gabriel said, and Sam could almost _hear_ the exaggerated shrug. “But what can you do? Hunter’s gonna hunt, hunt, hunt.”

“Did you just make a Taylor Swift reference?” Sam groaned.

Gabriel laughed. “Did you just recognize one?”

Sam scowled.

“How you doing, Sam-a-lam?” Gabriel asked, coming into Sam’s field of vision as he crouched beside him.

“He smells like pain and fire,” the griffin said, lifting its head to regard Sam.

“And you smell like a creep.” Gabriel put one hand on the griffin’s head and pushed him bodily away from Sam. “Give him some space, Shrikey-boy.”

“I’m fine,” Sam said, looking up at the archangel. He was a bit dazed still, but unharmed –– but for the lack of corporeal body, of course. Keeping his eyes suspiciously locked on the griffin above him, he felt his pockets, finding the three angel taming pendants still there.

“Oh, stop it!” Gabriel snapped when the griffin leaned in closer to regard Sam. Sam glanced over to see him glaring at the griffin. 

It stayed there for a moment, and then opened its mouth in a terrifying approximation of a grin before stepping back enough to let Sam sit up.

“Sam Winchester, meet Shrike, Heaven’s most obnoxious guard. Shrike, Sam Winchester. Don’t break him.”

“Pleased to meet you?” Sam said, or asked, actually, staring at the beast.

The griffin leveled a look at Gabriel, and Sam could see unspoken words flying between the two.

“And I am Halliya,” another rumbled behind him. “Doomed to endure the two of them.”

Then Sam remembered. Griffins had been guarding the Horn. These griffins, apparently.

“And now everyone is introduced,” Remiel said, voice hard and impatient. He was standing stock still behind Gabriel, glaring down at them all with those dark eyes. “We must move.”

“Where are you going?” Shrike asked. “With this one,” he added belatedly, looking down at Sam in confusion.

“Throne room itself,” Gabriel said, all bravado and smiles. “Wanted to have a chat with the new god in town.”

“About time,” Halliya told him. “You’re the last archangel. You should be there, not that scribe.”

Shrike snorted. Halliya glared at him, but Gabriel looked almost grateful.  “Yeah, we’re just going to do some housekeeping. We’re not staying.”

“Do you need an escort?” Shrike asked, flexing his wings excitedly.

“This is a stealth mission,” Remiel said somberly. “The fewer the better.”

Gabriel looked from Remiel to the griffins. “Not this time,” he said after a moment. “But we’re going to need your help.”

Sam held back a sigh of relief. These creatures were amazing, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to fight beside them. Every bit of his training was telling him to be wary, and the only thing stopping him from trying to find a defensible position was Gabriel’’s apparent friendship with them.

He stood up and stretched, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down as Gabriel talked to the griffins. He had been here before, he knew, but he didn’t remember much of it. He probably hadn’t been to this corner, but he didn’’t recall the gates (silver, not gold) and large stone wall, or the lush grass and dusky purple-blue sky.

He certainly didn’t remember the _feel_ of the place: the thrum of radiant energy just below the surface of his skin, somehow calming and exhilarating. He closed his eyes, breathing it in, letting himself wonder at it.

He supposed that’s why they call this place Heaven.

“It’s settled then,” Halliya growled, grabbing Sam’s attention. He opened his eyes to look at her expectantly. “We will provide you with a distraction. You will bring the scribe to us to deal with, once you’ve stripped him of his power.”

Her voice was dark and menacing. Sam could hear the promise of death in it. Shrike puffed up, his great wings bathing his face in shadow, his eyes gleaming with vengeance.

He raised an eyebrow at the Gabriel, who seemed completely unaffected by the unexpected display from his bloodthirsty friends. The Trickster, he remembered, dealt in vengeance as much as lessons.

He should be more worried, he knew. He would be scared of what he got into. He thought of Castiel and the other angels – thought of how Metatron had used Cas, had had Kevin killed, had ambushed them and left Gabriel for dead. And he found himself smiling just as viciously as the griffins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH my god. I'll be honest with you all...I only have another 500 words or so written after this, and I've been struggling to get further. I will do my absolute BEST to get you another chapter next week, but it might be short. Fingers crossed. 
> 
> I CAN promise you all that I am not giving up on this fic, and I will try my best to continue to update every week (though I don't know if I can continue the 3k-5k word chapters).


	19. Heavenly Heist, Part 2

Travel through Heaven was nothing like what Sam had expected.

They didn't walk Lord of the Rings style. But the angels didn't fly either. Instead, they seemed to float between locations, sliding from one person’s heaven to the next, Gabriel’s hand on his arm the entire time. One moment, they were in a tropical paradise, empty save for a lone surfer on the waves. The next, they saw an English cottage with a well-kept garden on a quiet street, with a blond man looking out one window, silent and still.  The moved out of that one and into an old growth forest, where a scowling young man with dark hair was building a grand house meant for a huge family.

There was something discordant about all them, nothing at all like the harmony he had felt at the gate. They were empty, lonely: what people thought would make them happy, but nothing like what actually would. He wanted to get away from them.

But when he asked Gabriel, the archangel told him it was harder to track them this way, easier to hide in others’ fantasies than fly between them.

Gabriel was the first to notice the griffins’ distraction, and he pointed it out to Sam. Fireworks marred the edges of each afterlife, a colorful display of lightening and sparks.

“They’re messing with the walls between heavens,” Gabriel told him. “Not that Metadouche would care if all of them were connected again or not, but it’s gonna cause some issues with his home base. He’ll at least have to send someone to check it out.”

“Do you think he’ll go himself?” Sam asked, worried that they had just made their task harder.

Gabriel quirked his mouth to the right, thinking.

“Doubtful,” he said after moment. “He’s not the type to get his hands dirty without an audience.”

“How much further?”

“Maybe half an hour, the way you feel time,” Gabriel told him. “Long enough for him to hopefully send some of his minions out.””

They travelled through half a dozen more heavens in that time. In one, a man danced alone in a room of literally faceless strangers. Then, a bright, red-headed woman harvested vegetables from her garden; far too many for her, but with no one to share them with. Sam was starting to avoid looking too close at them.  The realization that this was his best case scenario afterlife was not one he wanted to dwell on.

“How you holding up, Sammich?” Gabriel asked, bringing them to a stop in an odd little corner – there was no scenery here, just a haze of color around them.

“Alright,” Sam said, taking a breath that he really didn’t need in this form. “Good, actually. We almost there?”

Gabriel nodded. “We’re on his doorstep, so to speak,” the archangel confirmed. “He hasn’t noticed us yet. Little Mety’s not going to know what hit him.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at the nickname, because, _really?_ He fingered the pendants in his pocket again. “We clear on the plan?”

“As a bell,” Gabriel told him.

“Do you know where the Tablet is?” Sam asked.

“Generally,” Gabriel said flippantly. Sam gave him a hard look. “Hey, it’s cool. It’s just warded in there, so I can’t see well.”

“Warded? Are we going to get in?”

“We’ll be fine,” Gabriel said in a dismissive way that did not reassure Sam at all. “I told you – it’s just him and Gadreel in there, and they’re focused on the griffins. We’ll get in – and then we’ll figure it out.”

“Alright, then, let’s do this thing,” Sam said.

Gabriel tightened his grip on Sam’s arm – and Sam realized he had never let it go – and they slipped into a new locale.

It was an old fashioned study, or something like it. Metatron was at the desk, in front of an old typewriter. Gadreel stood behind him, clearly acting as bodyguard.

After a moment, he glanced up at them, seemingly unsurprised. “Ah. I’ve been expecting you, Gabriel,” he said, smiling sleazily. He glanced at Sam. “Didn’t think you’d bring a Winchester here. Confident, aren’t we?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Comes with the archangel territory. And the god territory.”

Metatron laughed. Sam didn’t like the sound. “Really, Trickster? You think I don’t know you’re powerless?”

Metatron twirled one hand in an awkward flourish, and a bolt of purple light sent Gabriel flying backward. The archangel didn’t defend himself, didn’t fight back.

Sam wasn’t worried. It only took a moment for Gabriel to stand up and brush himself off, seemingly unaffected.

“Big angel, aren’t you?” Gabriel taunted him. “Was that meant to impress us or your little minion?”

“Not just an angel. The new God,” Metatron shot back. “Capital G, unlike some of us.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow challengingly. “Power hungry. Wants to rule heaven and earth. Has a way with words. You remind me of someone.”

“And who’s that?” Metatron asked. He rose from his desk, turning all his attention toward Gabriel, and leaving Gadreel to watch Remiel and Gabriel.

“Big bro. Lucifer,” Gabe said. He furrowed his eyebrows together, making a show of thinking. “But you’re worse than him, aren’t you? He wanted the angels to join him, at least in the beginning. You took away their wings, kicked them out of heaven.”

“How dare you –” Metatron snapped. He caught himself, straightened his back and took a calming breath, though Sam could still see an angry flush rising in his cheeks. “I did what needed to be done.”

“Needed for what? For you to play house? Pretend to be Dad for a while?” Gabriel asked, mocking tone amplified by his blasé stance.

“For me to _lead_ them,” Metatron sneered. “Something you seem to know nothing about, archangel.”

Gabriel lifted one eyebrow mockingly. “Lead them to what?”

Metatron was getting closer to Gabriel, closer to passing Sam. Once he was past, Remiel would attack Gadreel. Sam would hopefully be able to pounce with the charms.

“You know what your problem is?” Metatron asked, inching forward. “Lack of vision. You’re an archangel. They’d follow you, if you tried. All the power of Heaven could have been yours, and you ignored it. Too bad – cause now it’s mine, and the angels will follow because I have it.”

“Right, that doesn’t sound like a bad supervillain speech or anything,” Gabriel told him dryly.

Metatron glared at him, raising a hand.

Remiel must have taken that as a cue, because in the corner of his eye, Sam saw the dark skinned angel attacking Gadreel.

Before he could process the thought, Sam was attacking. The hand with the pendant was out of his pocket and stretched out toward Metatron.

Metatron was concentrating on Gabriel, and he didn’t realize Sam was an actual threat until too late. He made a belated motion, as if to ward the hunter off, but the pendant was already pressed into his skin, disappearing into it as the magic seemed to melt into Metatron’s Grace.

Gabriel surged forward and grabbed Metatron. He nodded toward where Remiel was holding down a struggling Gadreel.

Sam turned and took another amulet from his pocket to apply to the other angel.

It was over much faster than it should have been. It only took a few moments for them to deposit the suddenly docile angels beside the table.

“Samsquatch?” Gabriel asked from the desk, and Sam looked up from where he was helping Remiel move the angels. “Jackpot.”

Gabriel was holding the tablet, staring up at Sam with an impish smile.

Sam’s eyes widened. Yup, that was the jackpot. The source of Metatron’s power – possibly a source for any angel. He should be worried by the idea of Gabriel having it.

He hoped he could trust his instincts, and that Gabriel was the right angel to hold it.

 

…

 

Gabriel tasked Remiel with taking Metatron and Gadreel to the griffins, who would keep them jailed until Gabriel could deal with them properly. After they’d gotten used to the griffin’s _hospitality._ Gabriel had better things to do – or at least that’s what he told Sam when he grabbed the hunter’s arm.

Sam wasn’t complaining, since Gabriel’s immediate flight brought them back to the Church of Saint Gabriel the Peacemaker, and back to Sam’s body. Sam was honestly rather partial to getting back to his body.

In an incongruously angelic gesture, Gabriel guided him back to it, helping Sam quite literally come back to life.

Castiel was still there, of course, sitting over Sam’s body protectively. His face was gaunt, shadowed. He didn’t have circles under his eyes, like a human would, but wear was clear on his face. He didn’t look well.

“Welcome back,” he said when Sam opened his eyes. Human eyes. He didn’t realize how limited they were – even after Gabriel had shielded him from seeing the angels, he had seen glimpses of so much more when he was just a soul. Now everything was muted, dull.

“How long were we gone?” Sam asked, sitting up. His muscles were stiff and cold, but otherwise he felt more or less normal.

“Twenty-three hours and six minutes,” Castiel told him, and Sam saw a hint of a smile, as though he was making fun of his old, overly literal self. “Dean has been worried.”

“He’s not here, is he?” Sam asked, looking around. That would be just like his brother, to ignore the plans and just did what he thought was right anyway.

“I’ve been told – several times – of things called phones,” Castiel told him. And yup, that was definitely a smirk on the angel’s face. “He’s been calling.”

“Did you get it?” Anna asked. Sam looked over to where she was lying across a pew, clearly bored by their vigil.

“I have it,” Gabriel confirmed from where he was still crouching beside Sam.

“Good. Let’s get out of here. This place is unnerving,” Anna said.

Castiel nodded. “I agree. I never met Erendriel, but his presence is…pervasive.”

Gabriel looked down at Sam. “Ready to get out of here?”

Sam nodded.

“Good,” Anna said with a sigh. She stretched her hand out to Cas, and they were gone.

Gabriel moved to touch Sam, but the hunter stopped him with a word, taking advantage of their relative privacy. “Wait.”

“What’s up, Samsquatch?” Gabriel asked, eyebrow raised.

“The Tablet. Is it – can you tap into it like Metatron could? I know – is it making things worse? With your Grace?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Haven’t tried yet. We’ll see when I do.”

Sam nodded. “Do you think – Cas looked bad. Do you think it’ll help?”

Gabriel gave him a small smile. “Listen. I don’t know. But we’ll take care of my baby bro. If there’s anything I’ve learned from you Winchesters, it’s that survival depends on stubbornness, and we’ve got it in droves.”

Sam huffed a small laugh. “Yeah, that we do.”

“C’mon,” Gabriel said. “Let’’s get back. We have a lot on our plate – time to start dealing with it all.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, ok. I think Dean’s worried enough. Let’s not keep him waiting.”

Gabriel took Sam’s arm and flew them out of the church with a rush of wings.

In his mind’s eye, Sam could almost see the golden feathers carrying them.

 

…

 

“It’s about time,” Dean said with a glare as soon as Sam and Gabriel appeared in the bunker war room, where he, Samandriel, Anna, Cas, and Garth were already waiting. The tightness of his voice and the strained look in his eyes betrayed his worry though. “Where’s Metadouche?”

“In custody. With Gadreel,” Sam told him, looking him over.

“Where?” Dean asked.

“With friends,” Gabriel said, clearly baiting the hunter.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Griffins. Gabriel’s allies. I think we can trust them.”

Dean nodded, frowning. “We’re good, though? He’s dealt with? Are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” Sam said. “Cas and Anna watched me. It all went to plan.”

 “That’s a first,” Dean muttered.

Sam couldn’t argue.

“And the Tablet?” Dean asked.

Gabriel produced it from – _somewhere_ – and tossed it onto the table. “Mission accomplished. Now we just need to figure out how to read it, or what to do with it, and we’ll be set.”

“The prophets are –”

“Dead, yes Cas, we know,” Dean interrupted. “There’s gotta be something you guys can do, though, right?”

“Later.” Gabriel said. “First thing’s first. The angels –– we need them if I’m gonna talk to dear old Dad. But we need them on our side. No bloodbaths.”

“Good luck,” Dean said sarcastically.

Cas gave Dean a hurt look. “I believe our brothers and sisters could get along, if Metatron’s influence was diminished,” he said. “I was thinking on this while we waited.”

“And?” Dean asked.

 “Humans have trials for traitors to their kind. Could we, in front of them, try Metatron? If we have him alive in our custody.”

“It’s an idea, but I don’t know. It sounds more like a kangaroo court, Cas,” Sam told the angel.

“So?” Gabriel asked. “It doesn’t need to be a fair trial. We just need him to admit what he did: that he was the reason the angels fell, and that he only cares if they’re alive if he’s their god. Even our siblings are not dense enough to follow him after that.”

Dean shrugged. “It could work.”

“We lose nothing by trying,” Anna agreed.

Sam looked over to Samandriel for his opinion, but the baby-faced angel wasn’t paying attention to them. Instead, he was staring down at the Tablet, one finger tracing the letters down the center of it.

“Alfie?” Sam asked.

“Zoh-bah-leh-ta. Sah-teh-voch-leh,” the angel whispered at him, his voice filled with awe. His finger jumped to another line. “Voh-meh-pah-rah-less.””

“What was that?” Gabriel asked, eyebrows shooting up.

“I recognize it,” Samandriel explained. “From before, when Crowley –” his voice broke off, and he blinked a few times before continuing. “I can read it. I think.”

Gabriel smiled, bright and clear. It was more sincere than anything Sam had seen on his face in front of a group before, and Sam couldn’t help returning it. “Good. Awesome,” the archangel said, clapping his hands together. “Perfect. See if you can’t find anything about restoring Cas’s Grace. We’ll get the angels on board tomorrow and see what Dad has to say.”

“And you?” Samandriel asked. “Is there anything I can find for your –?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Don’t worry about me, kiddo. I have upgrades that aren’t in the instruction manual.”

“That’s good, though,” Sam said. “If Alfie can read it, you don’’t need to open the gate to the Void. You don’t need to talk to God at all; we should be able to do this alone.”

“But what if what we need isn’t in there?” Dean asked, interrupting. “We still need to take care of Abaddon, and we’re on a time crunch with Cas.”

“And it would be good to have all the angels on our side against Abaddon,” Castiel interjected.

Gabriel nodded. “We can do both. Let Alfie be Plan B. We’ll go ahead with Plan A.”

Sam frowned. They were right, of course, but it was dangerous. Gabriel had already admitted it could kill him.

“But –” he started to protest.

“Don’t get all worried over me, Sammykins,” Gabriel teased, his voice saccharine sweet. “It’ll be fine.”

 _Famous last words,_ Sam thought, but he closed his mouth and nodded.

“One last thing,” Garth, who had been quietly watching the proceedings this whole thing, piped up. “Y’see, Caroline and I’ve been talking, and we’re wondering if we aren’t just a bit useless here.”

Dean gave him a look as if to say, _Yeah, no kidding_ , but Sam just stared at the skinny hunter, waiting for him to continue.

“We were thinkin’, it might be a good idea to get back to the hunter network Bobby had in place. Seems this is the best place for an HQ, as those things go.”

“I don’t -” Dean started.

Garth put a hand up to placate him and said quickly, “At least for a phone bank and research. They don’t have to know where we are, but it would be good if we had a central operation to contact each other from. If nothing else, we can put the hunters on alert to what the demons are up to, let them know to take them out if they can, how to do it, that kind of thing.”

It was a good idea, Sam had to admit. He looked at Dean. “We could move operations later, if it doesn’t work out,” he chimed in. “Caroline will be heading home sooner or later anyway, and we can have her take it with her, like Bobby did.”

Dean looked between the two of them, knowing when he was beaten. “Alright, but this location is top secret,” he told the two of them. “We do research from here, and we can let the hunters contact us and vice versa, but they don’t know where we are. Figure it out.”

Garth nodded amicably, as if that was the exact answer he had expected, and more than he had been hoping for.

 

…

Sam was still worried when he went to bed that night, exhausted despite not using his body for a full day. It kept him up, staring into the blackness as he thought over what it would mean if Gabriel was injured – killed – opening that gate. Not just for them, but for Sam.

Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to admit how much that worried him.

He was up still, worrying, restless, when he felt the displacement of air and the rush of wings that heralded an angel’s approach.

He didn’t have to look to know it was Gabriel. Out of the corner of his eye, he could still almost see the green and gold of the angel’s power. It was getting clearer, now that he knew what to look for.

“Trouble sleeping?” Gabriel asked by way of greeting. His voice was quiet and calm, which Sam took to mean it wasn’t an emergency.

“Always,” Sam said honestly. “Need something?”

“Big day tomorrow,” Gabriel said casually.

Ah. Sam understood. Gabe was worried, too. “Wanna talk about it?” he offered. There was just enough light from the hall sneaking in around the door for Sam to make out Gabriel’s features when he turned to look.

The archangel shook his head. “No. That is the last thing I want to do,” he said. “Talking is not my shtick. Leave the heart-to-hearts for the boring and the bored.”

“No chick flick moments?” Sam asked, bemused.

“Now you get it,” Gabriel said, enthusiasm in his voice clearly forced.

“What’s up, then?”

“I –” Gabriel’s voice broke off, and then he smiled, teeth bright even in the dark. “I thought you could use the company,” he said with a shrug. “Realized you weren’t sleeping, and thought maybe you needed an injection of awesome into your night.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “So, the Trickster doesn’t want to be alone?” he asked. 

“The Trickster doesn’t need your sass, bucko,” Gabriel told him. He moved forward, though, stopping just beside the bed.

Sam grinned and moved over in the bed. “Alright, might as well get comfy, then,” he told Gabriel.

And his exhaustion and worry was definitely getting the better of him, because he was happy – and just a bit thrilled – when Gabriel laid down beside him, stretching himself out over the blankets. He knew he should worry a bit more about that, but at the moment he was just glad the angel was close enough to be sure he was real and alive.

“You really do have to do something about this room,” Gabriel told him, starting down at where Sam’s feet hung off the end of the bed.

“I’m getting around to it,” Sam told him.

“Sure you are,” the Trickster answered. He made a move to snap, probably to change the room to fit his own tastes, but stopped at the last minute, frowning.

Sam brought up his hand to put on Gabriel’s, trying to comfort him as much as he could. “We’ll fix it,” he said quietly, putting all his conviction into his words. “We’ll fix all of it.”

Gabriel shook his head in wonder. “You really believe that, don’t you? Shouldn’t you of all people be a cynic by now?”

 Sam shrugged. Gabriel was right, of course: less than a year ago he had been willing to die because he was sure going out by closing the gate to Hell was better than any life he’d have here on Earth. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

“You bring out the optimist in me,” he admitted honestly.

It earned him a grin, one of those rare, open ones, physically warm in its brightness. “Me, too,” the Trickster admitted. “Dad help me, it’s probably going to get me killed again, but it feels like whatever we’re doing here is right.”

“Exactly,” Sam agreed, looking over Gabriel’s shadowed features. They were so close here, sharing the same pillow. Gabriel seemed so new, so mysterious and mercurial, yet so open with him. Only with Sam.

Sam wondered at that. It had been a long time since someone beside Dean had trusted him – Hell, it had been a long time since he and Dean completely trusted each other, though they were closer to it now than they had been since - well, probably since Dean had come back from Hell. It was a heady feeling.

It was more than that. He worried about the archangel. Cared for him.

He leaned over, impulsively, and pressed his lips to the corner of Gabriel’s mouth.

The angel looked at him, eyes wide.

“Maybe we could both use the distraction?” Sam said wryly.

The Trickster gave a feral grin. “Really, Samsquatch?”

Sam smirked. “Unless you want to talk about _feelings_ all night.”

Gabriel laughed, using the hand that Sam wasn’t holding to trace the features of Sam’s face. “Anything but that!”

And then he was kissing Sam, and Sam didn’t need to come up with a comeback, because _damn_ but Gabriel was a good kisser. He let go of Gabriel’s hand to start unbuttoning his shirt, letting his brain shut off for a little while as he got caught up in lips and skin and _Gabriel_.

Tomorrow would come soon enough. For now, he could do with a bit of happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for long time between updates, and thank you all for the encouragement! I needed it. This was so hard to write, and I have so much more respect for writers even when their villain-killing is anti-climactic. That was HARD. I hope you liked it.
> 
> Also, If you didn’t get it, the heavens they passed were all from my fandoms: John Sheppard (SGA), John Watson (Sherlock), Derek Hale (Teen Wolf), Stuart Jones (QAF UK), and Mrs. Weasley (Harry Potter) because I’m a terrible, terrible person. I hate Supernatural heavens, and I hope that if you didn’t before, now you do, too.


	20. Horn's Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I figure since I abandoned this for 3 months, I'm not holding myself to a schedule anymore. So, two chapters in one week. If you didn't catch up from October, go back to chapter 19. Hell, go back to chapter 18 so you remember where we left off there.
> 
> Enjoy!

Dean escaped to his room early that night. He was happy to see Sam back and alive, happy that Cas had kept watch over him on his trip to Heaven, happy that Cas was alive. He just didn’t feel up to spending much time with him.

Even though things were getting better between them, they were still strained. Dean was still sure he was going to mess up again, that he was going to get them all killed.

Or maybe just not save Cas in time. That would be just as bad as getting him killed, he thought.

“Cas, buddy,” he prayed as he stared at the bottle of bourbon on his nightstand. “I need you, if you have some time.”

Cas was opening his door before he finished speaking. “Dean?” he asked. “What can I help you with?”

Dean sighed and looked the angel over. He didn’t look good – Dean would call him gaunt and ill, if he were human.

“Nothing,” Dean said shaking his head. “Just thought – maybe you’d want to stick around a while. Thought maybe I could introduce you to Clint Eastwood – _The Good, The Bad & The Ugly_?” He gestured at his laptop by way of explanation.

He wondered how much Cas could see right through him when he looked Dean over and nodded. If Cas could see that he had missed the angel, and was just looking for an excuse to keep him in his room while he shut the rest of the world out.

Not that it mattered. The result was the same either way.

“I’d like that, Dean,” the angel said, sitting down on Dean’s bed.

Dean smiled and grabbed his laptop before settling beside him.

 

…

 

Gabriel didn’t sleep, but he stayed the night beside Sam, listening to the hunter breath, and using surgical applications of his Grace to chase away his nightmares. It was a good place to stay, to think: the presence of the hunter cleared his thoughts in a way that was rare and precious. He could contemplate what it would mean, bringing the angels together, calling on his Father. Everything he had been avoiding for centuries. Could he just walk away from them again when it was all over? Would he want to?

He stayed until he felt Sam waking naturally, not from nightmares but because his body had the rest it needed. He intended on staying longer – promising the hunter another night like the night before, but he could feel Sam’s emotions as he woke: warm and fuzzy and slow as he remembered what had happened, and why he was sore.

He knew it the moment Sam remembered. A flash of fear flowed from the hunter like water, caught up in surprise and confusion.

Gabriel was smart, good at emotions for an angel, or even for a human. He didn’t need it spelled out for him. He had things to do – the griffins needed to know about their plan for Metatron, and Remiel needed to be shown the back door out of Heaven. The Garden was calling him.

Besides, humans were messy, complicated things. He didn’t need to get caught up in them. If he were honest with himself (which he most certainly was not), he had more to fear from Sam than the other way around.

He flew away before Sam was truly awake, and hopefully before he could register that Gabriel had stayed the night.

He had things to do anyway. Today he’d show himself to the angels. Today was going to change _everything_.

 

…

 

Sam woke abruptly with the feeling of someone else in his bed. That was not good. The only people who warmed Sam’s bed were those who wanted him dead, or those who would die soon. The two were often not mutually exclusive.

He almost reached for the small silver knife under his pillow before he remembered and relaxed. Gabriel. Gabriel was not going to hurt him, and he might have some metaphysical issues right now, but Sam didn’t think he was going to die from it. At least not immediately.

And then he felt the bed go cold. Or was it always cold – his mind was still fuzzy enough not to know the difference between dream and reality. Still, he could have sworn Gabriel was still there a moment before.

He frowned and turned on his bedside light. The sheets were a tangle across his body, and the scent of the room made what they had done last night absolutely unmistakable.

He took a deep breath and sighed it out, wondering what to do about it. Should he tell Dean? Would it happen again? He wasn’t sure. He sure as Hell knew it shouldn’t have happened – not like that, when it made things so much more complicated. Not on the eve of Gabriel risking his life. Again.

But Gabriel was gone, which definitely made things less complicated. Casual. Sam could do casual. It was what he had hinted at last night; it made things easier.

It wasn’t exactly what he wanted, but that was ok. He was used to not getting what he wanted.

He dressed in his gym clothes quickly, eager to get to let off some steam. He was only a little sore – Gabriel had taken care of the worst of it – so he ran for a few miles before taking some aggression out on a punching bag. The whole time he tried to keep his mind clear, not thinking too hard about what had happened the night before.

He was a Winchester; he was very good at avoiding issues.

His shower afterwards was supposed to be quick and perfunctory, but he was less successful at keeping ideas of Gabriel joining him in the shower out of his head. Really, he was ok with that. He was pretty sure shower sex with the archangel would be amazing.

After last night, he was pretty sure _any_ sex with the archangel would be amazing.

So he went through the motions, not noticing the slightly different scent of his conditioner, or the off color. Like always, he kept it in a few minutes while he soaped up and jerked off, then rinsed it out.

He did notice the bright purple water that streamed down his body and down the drain.

And when he bothered to look, he realized his fingers were stained purple. So was his hair, when he let it fall into his face.

 _Dean,_ he realized. So, the prank war was still on.

And his hair was purple.

He tried to wash it out, but it was definitely not temporary. Though the suds of his shampoo turned purple when he tried, the color stayed stubbornly on his hair as well.

Fuming, he got out and dressed quickly, keeping his hair in a towel to hide it until he figured out what the hell to do about it.

Then he went hunting.

“Dean!” he shouted as he stalked into the kitchen, which was empty. Cas was in the library, and seemed nonplussed by Sam’s frustration. He suggested Sam check the garage.

“Dean!” he called again as he marched up to the Impala, where he could see Dean’s legs hanging out from under the engine.

He rolled out from under her, shit eating grin on his face. “Nice bonnet, Samantha.”

“We had rules. No damaging my hair,” Sam growled.

Dean put up his hands defensively. “I didn’t damage anything!”

“It won’t come out,” Sam told him.

“Semi-permanent,” Dean told him. “I checked. It’ll be out in a week.””

Sam raised one eyebrow, still suspicious.

“I promise. I’ll give you the bottle when I go downstairs, princess,” Dean told him, still grinning. “I can’t believe it worked. Can I see it?”

Sam glared, letting Dean see all his anger and frustration written in his eyes.

“Aw, come on! I just want to see!”

Sam turned and stalked out of the garage.

A week wasn’t bad. Really. Maybe he could figure out something to do with it before the next time he saw Gabriel. Maybe Gabriel would help, if he couldn’t.

Dean was definitely going to regret that prank, though.

 

…

 

It took most of the day, but eventually Gabriel was able to push aside the last night’s activities – for better or worse – and get down to the real business of the day. Sunset seemed an ominous time to start, but he would likely end at sunrise. That seemed hopeful.

He set himself up near the bunker, in the field where he had met Sam in his dreams. It was a bit small for his purposes, but they would make do. It was the largest place he could find close to the bunker.

He gently caressed the smooth surface of his Horn before bringing it to his lips and beginning to play. Those first notes reverberated through him, making him mourn all the centuries lost without it. The Horn was an extension of himself, made of his own Grace, back when he was all archangel, and not at all pagan demigod. It was pure, in a way he could no longer be.

Slow and sonorous, this song would take hours to reach its climax. Days, if he drew it out, though he knew he didn’t have time for that. This was not the prophesied Song of the Apocalypse, the terrible refrain which would bring Death down on children and herald war. Gabriel had vowed never to play, or even write that Song. Not unless commanded by Dad Himself, and not without one Hell of a fight.

This song was old. It predated prophets, humans, even stars and seas. This was the Song of the Angels’ Birth: the first one Gabriel had played, as Dad created the majority of his brothers and sisters. In his naïve youth, he had thought to chronicle God’s work with his song; even then, he mused, he had the bent of a demigod, more interested in creation than games of war and peace. This song would call the angels to him – even the youth like Samandriel, who had been created to replenish the angelic ranks after the first war with Lucifer, and who had never heard Gabriel play before.

As he played, he remembered how some of his favorites came into heaven. Natalael, the first of his sisters, who had been radiant and beautiful and full of deadly wit – Lucifer’s match, if she hadn’t died so young. Erendriel – a peacemaker and friend, who had consoled Gabriel over his siblings’ fighting, but had died before the first war between Lucifer and Michael. Both had been offered a place back on Earth with him, but had refused, having been in the Void for far too long to wish for life again. Kellanael, the shy angel whose voice could soar against Gabriel’s Horn, who was once his favorite duet partner.  He wondered briefly if she was still alive, before feeling the timid, far away flutter of her Grace respond to his call. Perhaps she would sing for him again.

He remembered the birth of Castiel, much older than he knew, who had come into life as curious and passionate as a human.  He had been in everything those first few days, with Michael and Raphael always chasing him away from God’s plans and projects. God himself, more bemused than anything, had chosen him as the savior of the Righteous Man –– which was probably the only reason the angel bureaucracy had worked to keep him controlled for so long, instead of simply disposing of him. It was a constant wonder for Gabriel how Castiel had never changed, despite Naomi and her ilk’s best attempts to ‘cure’ him of it. They should have known better than to edit God’s work, he thought wryly.

Gabriel smiled around the Horn, feeling Castiel approaching the field, spirit strong even with his fading Grace. The others would come in time, too – he had asked his flock of winged angels to find and gather the others, after they came to pay homage to call themselves. But he was glad Cas was first.

Without a word, Castiel stood behind Gabriel as his honor guard, angel blade at the ready, though they both knew it wouldn’t be necessary here. No angel would attack while Gabriel played this song. Not him, and not each other. This was his white flag.

The first angels appeared together – Gabriel’s wing of angels flew together as one, coming before him to bow in reverence to the power of the Horn. He added their invitation to the Call, letting the others know they need only ask for a flight here. 

One by one, the angels disappeared, only to return with their brethren. Some wore human vessels, but many were disembodied, bright lights floating across the darkening sky.

The angels quickly separated into cliques – tribal, almost, now that they were on earth. It broke Gabriel’s heart that they would still be so fractured, even in the face of his Call. He added another note, discordant and sad: a memory of the last time they fought together, when they were a single Host.

He was delighted to see their guilty discomfort as they looked around, remembering who they were. Who they were _supposed_ to be. He felt Castiel’s smile of approval behind him.

It didn’t tire him to play through the night, not like it should have. Instead, the Horn’s magic rejuvenated him, healed parts he forgot were broken, even as he poured himself into it. He had expected it to reject his Pagan nature, but it embraced it, pulling in the green magic to add depth and color to the Song.

It took hours for the angels to gather, but he was patient. He knew most of them, and he played the stories of their births as they appeared, one after the other. For those he didn’t know, he played welcoming refrains. For many, it was the first time they heard the Horn played, and he made sure they were honored as they honored it.

He had been right. The last of the angels appeared just before dawn, and he fit the last refrain of his Song to the sunrise.

The silence of the dawn was eerie after the prolonged melody of the Horn. Gabriel let it drag out, letting the angels feel the depth of what they had just witnessed: the first time the Horn had been played in millennia. The last, possibly, if any of their plans went wrong.

“Brothers,” he said, not bothering to raise his voice. They could hear him just fine. “Sisters. Nice to see you all.”

He was nothing if he was not dramatic, so he hid a smirk and unfurled his wings, letting them shine for all to see. He rose up on them, still holding the Horn. He knew his young brethren would respect the pageantry of it all.

“Gabriel! You’re dead,” one of the angels – Corliel, Gabriel identified –– accused.

“I was dead,” he agreed simply. “I’m not anymore.”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for them to respond, but none did. Shock, he decided. He smirked, letting himself fall back into his Trickster persona.

“Now, as I hear it, there’s been a lot of fighting since I bit the dust. Angels fighting angels. Angels kicking angels out of Heaven, destroying their wings. We had a traitor among us. We’ve neutralized the threat.”

That was the cue for the griffins, four of whom flew in before Gabriel.

The other looked on in shock, seeing the prisoners held in their claws: Gadreel and Metatron.

“Metatron leads us!” one of them protested. “What have you done to him?”

“Relax,” Gabriel told the crowd. “He’s sedated, not dead.”

He landed in front of Metatron, looking down at him, but kept his wings unfurled as a reminder to the others. “Why were you following him anyway? What did he do for you?”

“He brought us back to Heaven,” Asariel called out. “He gave us order.”

Gabriel looked up at the audience and raised an eyebrow. “Really? He took away your wings, and Heaven.”

“Liar!” another one, Theariel, protested.

Gabriel shrugged. “Ask him yourself.”

That was another cue. Shrike, who was leading the griffins, grazed one talon over Metatron’s skin, separating him from the amulet and dissolving its hold on him. Another released Gadreel, though both kept a firm hold on both angels. Gabriel at least had the decency to wait until he had oriented himself and figure out just where he was.

“What about it, Mety?” he continued. “Who took the angel’s wings? Who trapped them on Earth?”

Metatron sneered up at him. “Yeah, that’s gonna work.”

Gabriel sneered back. Not that he hadn’t expected that, but Metatron just got under his skin. Just by existing.

“Ok, then let’s ask someone who was there. Castiel?”

Castiel frowned at him. They had discussed this. He had known he’d have to do this, but Gabriel still knew it wasn’t pleasant.

“He…tricked me,” Castiel explained slowly. “Had me gather components for a spell. I thought it was one that would help the angels. I didn’t know what it would do, or that the last part would require him to steal my Grace.”

There was a feeling of collective shock from the angels. Castiel had been recalcitrant about this story, and it was news to most of them.

Metatron shrugged. “You should do your research, Castiel.”

“You should value your _family_ ,” Castiel shot back, though his voice was more sad than accusatory.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow at Metatron. “Is that true?” he asked, hoping the crowd would recognize a blatant lie from the angel. “Was it your spell?””

Metatron looked out at the crowd, weighing his options.  It was clear that he really had no choice, not powerless like he was, but Gabriel thought for a moment that the scribe would choose to lie.

“Whose else?” Metatron asked at last. And at least he would put on a good show when he knew he was caught. “Who else would have known how, or been able to pull it off?”

“Can you undo it?” Gabriel asked, eyes hard.

Metatron looked down. “I don’t have the power,” he admitted. “Even with the tablet, I couldn’t.”

Gabriel scowled, then looked out to the crowd. “Any more protests before we shut him up again?”

There was a feeling of collective disgust, but no one said a word.

“Good. Gadreel, we’ll deal with you later. We have more important business.”

“Are you going to lead then?” Anael asked, stepping forward from the crowd.

Gabriel frowned but didn’t argue. It would be counterproductive, he knew. “For now,” he sneered. “Any more dumb questions?”

When no one answered, he sighed and continued. “Ok, so here’s the deal. Abaddon’s hanging around, trying to force her way into Heaven. The last Knight of Hell - I think you can all guess how that will go. Better, I can’t stop her, and we don’t know what will.”

The angels before him were restless, but listening.

“I know where God is.”

Silence. Gabriel could feel the collective shock of the angels before him, but none of them cried out to call him a liar or ask where.

He tool a moment before he continued. “I’ve seen him, where I was before, when I was dead. I need to talk to him, but I don’t have the strength alone.”

He shifted on his feet, uncomfortable in his vessel for the first time in centuries. “I need to open a portal, and I need energy for it – Grace from whatever angels are willing to lend it to me. If it works, everyone will be fine. But there’s a chance it won’t. If it doesn’t – I’ll be dead. I don’t know if the rest of you would survive or not, or in what shape.”

He looked out over the crowd. “It’s our best chance to fix this: to open Heaven to all angels, get your wings back, defeat Abaddon. But it’s a risk. I’’ll give you a day to think it over. Sunrise tomorrow, be here if you want to help. If you have questions, ask one of the raised angels – the ones with the wings. They’ll fill you in.”

He knew the pandemonium it would create, but he had hit his limits. He beat his wings hard, getting the Hell out of Dodge.

If he were human, now would be a good time to panic.

 


	21. Interludes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I know. It's been a LONG time since I updated this. But I can assure you, after this I have only 5 more chapters and an epilogue, all mapped out and ready to go. So hopefully you'll all still be with me for it.
> 
> If you forgot what was going on before now, I suggest going back at least to Chapter 18: Heavenly Heist (Part 1). In brief: Gabriel figured out how to resurrect himself and 74 other fallen angels, who have wings since they weren't around for Metatron's spell. Sam was saved by Gabriel after Gadreel took over his body in the the season 9 mid-season finale. Since then, Gabriel has come to the bunker, brought a bunch of angels with him, and subdued Metatron in heaven...but his Grace is going haywire because he bit off way more than he could chew. Now he's calling all the angels together to help him talk to God (unless they all kill each other first). Oh, and Abaddon's taken over Hell, and is trying to take over Heaven, too, while the angels are out. And the Winchesters have a prank war going on in the background, when they're not mooning over their respective angels. I think that sums MOST of it up.
> 
> But yeah, Chapters 18-20 will probably job your memory better. :)

It was a very good thing Gabriel was not human.

Really, it was a very good thing he was an archangel. Otherwise he might be panicking.

Not that he didn’t have every reason to panic. He had just revealed himself to the entire Heavenly Host, after all. After only a few centuries of hiding himself from them completely. They were only looking for him to lead – something he had never been interested in. Something he _wasn’t good at._ Not at all.

He was just planning to use their help to call on his Almighty Father, who had made it abundantly clear He wanted nothing to do with Earth, angels or humanity.

No big.

And if that meant he didn’t think too hard about where he was going, and found himself in Sam Winchester’s room again – back in his bed –– that was cool, too. The place was empty, after all. Sam was in the gym. Or the shower. Something – Gabe wasn’t really paying attention to anything beyond _not here_.

He laid himself down into the bed, letting himself breath in the scent of the younger Winchester: an entirely too human habit he had picked up somewhere along the way, indulging in the emotional response of scent. He hadn’t seen Sam awake since the night before, when they had slept together. He wasn’t sure what Sam would make of finding him here.

He didn’t really care.

He had other things to worry about. Like the angels. And their drama. And their expectations. Story of his life: worrying about crazy angels and how to avoid them.

So, when Sam finally walked in, fully clothed but hair still wet from his shower, Gabriel was still there, lounging on his bed.

“Okaaaay,” Sam said slowly, giving him an odd look as he tossed his laundry into a hamper. “Welcome to my bedroom. Once again.” His voice was more curious than annoyed or angry, which was a win in Gabriel’s book.

Gabriel didn’t answer. He was too busy lifting himself off the bed to get a better look at the hunter. “Purple?” he asked.

Sam blushed. It was an unexpectedly adorable look on him. “Dean. He put dye in my conditioner.”

Gabriel chuckled. “I like it. It fits your personality, really, Winchester.”

Sam scowled. “Is there something you could do about it?”

“Hmmm,” Gabriel said, giving into his impish instincts. “It _is_ a bit flat. Maybe some highlights? Blue? Pink?”

Sam’s glare deepened. “I was thinking maybe get rid of it?”

 “No can do. I wouldn’t want to mess with your brother’s art.” Gabriel smirked. “I’m trying to get on his good side.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Sam asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be calling the angels or something?”

“Already done,” Gabriel told him.

Sam shot him a worried look. “Are you telling me we have all the remaining angels at our doorstep, and you’re in here, hanging out on my bed?”

Gabriel shrugged, consciously acting more relaxed than he felt. “Cassie and Anna can take care of it.”

Sam glared. And now Gabriel knew why Dean called that look his bitchface.

“ _Relax_ ,” he said. “They know about Metatron. They’re not going to attack each other, not when they were called by the Horn, and they know I’m nearby. It’s cool.”

“Nothing about this seems cool, Gabriel,” Sam argued. “This is insanity.”

Gabriel sighed. “Alright, I can give you that one. But it’s safe. I gave them until tomorrow to decide if they were helping or not.”

“Do you think they will?” Sam asked.

“No idea,” Gabriel admitted. “But it’s worth the shot. Maybe Alfie’ll have something by then.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Sam agreed. He sounded exhausted.

“Hey, com’ere,” Gabriel said, shifting over to make room on the bed.

Sam sat down on the side, back turned to Gabriel. He rested his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands, looking down at the floor.

Good. He wasn’t avoiding Gabriel altogether. It was just a fluke, the night before, but it didn’t seem to hurt the fragile trust they were building.

“It’s going to be ok,” Gabriel told him, reaching out to put one hand on Sam’s arm. “I’ll call Dad, tell Him I need his Fatherly advice, and He’ll help us figure this out.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then we’ll still figure it out,” Gabriel told him. He believed it, for a moment at least. They _could_ do this.

Until they blew it all up in their own faces, at least.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, sitting up a bit. “We always seem to.”

“That’s the spirit!” Gabriel agreed, overly enthusiastic to Sam’s tepid hope.

Sam rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. 

 

…

 

“Alfie!” Dean called, walking into the Men of Letter’s library, two beers in hand. The angel in question was at one table, pouring over the Angel Tablet, a look of extreme concentration on his face. Cas had already told him he could find Samandriel here, via text no less. It seemed the boyish-looking angel was not all that interested in squabbling with his brothers, and was diligently taking the time to study the Angel Tablet. Dean didn’t want to distract him too much, but damned if he wasn’t curious about what he had found so far.

“I would prefer Samandriel,” he said dryly.

“Yeah, but I already have a Sam,” Dean told him genially. He sat down at the table with Alfie and pushed one beer over to him before putting his legs up and taking a long draught of his own.

“I don’t –”

“Listen, I know you don’t. But Cas is out doing God knows what with the rest of your kind, probably putting himself right on the firing line again, and Sammy’s not talking to me because I messed up his precious hair. So, do me a solid and have a beer with me.”

“Please don’t use the Lord’s name in vain,” Alfie said seriously. “Where are the other hunters, Garth and Caroline?”

“Organizing Bobby’s hunter network. They don’t need me for that - half the hunting world hates the Winchester name for the Apocalypse, and the other half half-worships us. I’d rather avoid the lot of them.”

Alfie nodded and picked up the beer. He took a quizzical sip. “This isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

Dean smiled at him. “You know, you’re not so bad. Remind me of Cas, back when he first met.”

Alfie lowered his eyes a moment. “Castiel was always different, among us. Naomi went to great pains to change that.”

“Yeah, but she never could, could she?” Dean asked.

Alfie tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Look what he became.”

His eyes dropped again, back to the Tablet.

“What are you reading in that thing? Anything good?”

“Not yet,” Alfie admitted. “At least, not what I was expecting. I thought there would be more about Grace here. What it is and how it works, not just how it helps angels.”

“Nothing?” Dean asked.

“There is this,” Samandriel said. “It says, I believe, that ‘Grace is not the only source of an angel’s power, but the only intrinsic source.’”

“And what the Hell does that mean?”

“I have no idea, though I suspect it explains much of Gabriel’s, erm, _quirks_ ,” Samandriel admitted. “That’s where the passage ends.”

Dean frowned.

“We’ll save him,” Samandriel said, his voice suddenly harder and stronger, full of conviction. “If Gabriel could save us from death, we must be able to figure out a way to save an angel who’s still alive. I’m certain of it.”

Dean took a long sip from his beer. He wanted to believe the angel – wanted to with everything he was. He couldn’t imagine a life without Castiel – it was as unthinkable as life without Sam – but he still wasn’t convinced. You could only get lucky so many times in one life.

“He’s very devoted to you,” Alfie told him. “He asked Anna to take care of you, and your brother, should anything happen to him.”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Dean said, almost reflexively, directly contradicting his own thoughts. “He’ll be fine.”

Alfie nodded. “He will be.”

 

...

 

However comfortable Sam’s room was when Gabriel had it all to himself, it wasn’t a refuge when Sam was there. For one thing, the younger Winchester was pacing, and it was damn distracting. Gabriel found himself staring at that great ass –– one he now had a very interesting history with, which he could not forget – whenever Sam turned away, and pretending very hard not to notice Sam at all whenever he was within view of the hunter.

For another, with all the silent attention he was giving Sam’s ass, he was increasingly interested in repeating the very distracting exercises of two nights before.

Even _he_ realized how irresponsible that would be, given the fact that the entire angelic Host was on their doorstep.

So, with entirely no warning, between one of Sam’s long paces and the next, he popped himself out of the bunker, and flew west, straight to a small, as-of-yet-undiscovered-by-humans volcanic island in the South Pacific.

It wasn’t his usual kind of haunt. Instead of the glowing white sandy beaches and lush, flowering plants he usually preferred in the tropics, this small island was entirely composed of bare, black rock, freshly cooled from a recent eruption. The ocean itself was rough and dark, the warm wind threatening a storm, though it was still dry on land. It nicely complimented the smoke slowly wafting out of the center of the island itself, as if lazily contemplating another eruption.

It was perfect for his needs. Desolate as it was, it would allow him space to try to explore what was going on with his own personal trinity of angel, pagan, and draconic power. He just hoped he could figure out _how._ Anything he could do would make calling open a gate that much safer, for himself and his younger siblings.

He stripped slowly, manually, letting human hands dispose of shirt, pants – all but this vessel, old and familiar as anything he could imagine. He laid down on the warm volcanic rock, his more pagan senses riding the waves of power from the molten earth mere leagues beneath the surface.

He unfurled his wings, letting his grace glow more brightly than he had allowed for centuries before his death. A pair of wingtips jutted down into the magma itself, white flame playing with green pagan power in a dance he had perfected over the centuries. He prodded at the dark blue dragon power, giving it just the slightest nudge to join the pattern.

It crackled, rebelling against the touch of his magic, igniting a spark deep in the depths of the earth.

The reaction was instantaneous. Rampant. The magic split the earth beneath him, torrents of fresh, angry lava spewing up to create a new fountainhead of burning red and black, hissing as it came into contact with the sea. Smoke filled the air, overwhelming everything.

His clothes were gone before he could react. His vessel burned, but that was easy enough to heal. He pulled his powers back in, grace and pagan magic wrapping itself protectively around him first, then the dragon power. For a moment, it didn’t heed his call; he was trapped there, vessel continuously burning, almost as fast as he could heal it; wings singed and shocked, unable to flee as the dragon magic swooped further down into the earth, reckless and free.

There was a fault line just _there_ , a large enough one that its movement would cause real damage if it broke. Tsunamis, maybe more volcanic activity…

And the dragon magic was diving down toward it.

Forgetting his vessel, Gabriel dived after it, wings beating fast and sure. It was a part of him, dammit. A part of _him_ , an archangel – the most powerful being currently on Earth. But also a part that he should control – _could_ control. He caught up to the errant magic, sweeping his wings around it in one brilliant, brutish show of grace.

It gave, falling back into him reluctantly; churlishly. It angrily roiled throughout his being, looking for a way out.

Quick as a thought, Gabriel fled the island. The Pacific entirely, actually. If he thought the power was stable enough, he would have flown himself to Mars at that moment, but he had to be cautious.

Instead, he flew south to Antarctica, to a small cavern he had built himself on a whim once, a bit of fun inspired by Superman. He had invested quite a bit of power to make it comfortable, and even more to ensure it was safe, shielded from angels, demons, or anything else that might have an interest in him.

The dragon magic quieted almost as soon as he ensconced it in his glacial haven, as though it knew its fun was over. It didn’t interrupt as Gabriel restored his battered vessel, or snapped up a sugary meal of pies and cakes for himself. In fact, it was almost as though things were back to normal.

Almost. There was still a dark blue feeling in the back of his mind, as though it was biding its time, waiting to be set free again. As though it were somehow sentient.

That worried Gabriel more than anything else. How far in over his head was he, and how much worse would it get until (if) he figured it out? How many otheres would die if he didn’t?

He hoped that he would be the only one.

He was glad for the distraction when he heard Sam’s prayer.

 

…

 

Sam really didn’t want to face the bunker. Not with purple hair. At least not until he had figured out a way to embarrass Dean as much as he had embarrassed him.

So he spent the afternoon in his room, plotting in silence.

Gabriel had flown off rather quickly after Sam got there, so Sam was alone for most of it. Dean _had_ insisted on no angelic help, so Gabriel got bored pretty quickly, and he had other ways to entertain himself, elsewhere.

It got Sam thinking though, and eventually sending out a prayer. One that was sure to get the Trickster’s attention. “Archangel Gabriel, Messenger of the Lord, Youngest and Wisest of your brethren – ” _not that that’s saying much_ “ –– Wielder of Horn, Sword and Mighty” _–_ he choked a bit on his laughter, but he was sure Gabriel would pick up on the visual, colored by all the memories of two nights before –– “I ask of you a boon.”

“And _that’s_ enough of that, Winchester,” Gabriel interrupted peevishly, popping into view. His hair was askew, and maybe a bit shorter than it should have been, and he looked a bit shaken beneath his mock disdain. “What do you need?”

“So, you’re not supposed to help me with pranks,” Sam reminded him, “but I was wondering if you could help me with procurement…?”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, clearly interested. “Didn’t I tell you I wanted to get on your brother’s good side?”

“I know, but hear me out.”

Sam started talking. And by the time he was done, Gabriel’s wide and eager smile held no sign of archangel.

“I think I can get that for you tonight, Samsquatch,” the Trickster told him when he was done.

Sam shook his head. “No, wait until after you meet with the angels again. This isn’t exactly urgent business.”

Gabriel rolled his eye. “Sure, but I’d better do it while I’m still around,” he said flippantly.

Sam narrowed his eyes at that archangel. “You’ll still be around after this.”

“Yeah, kiddo. We’ll see,” Gabriel said, a melancholy tone to his voice. It reminded Sam of the first time he had heard the Trickster's real name.

“Hey, Gabe,” Sam said softly. “We’re gonna get through this. We’re all scared, but –”

Sam broke off. That was the exact wrong thing to say, and he knew it immediately. Gabriel broke his gaze, lowered his lashes and his eyes run up and down Sam’s body.

“Scared? No,” Gabriel said, suddenly in Sam’s space, pressing him back toward the small bed. “I don’t think scared is the right word.”

Sam’s knees hit the edge of the bed and he sat down, putting himself below eye level with the Trickster.

Gabriel followed him down, straddling Sam’s lap and burying his face in Sam’s neck. “No,” he said, punctuating each word with a nip or kiss to Sam’s ear. “Not scared.”

“Then what?” Sam choked out, suppressing a moan at the sudden contact.

“Hmmm,” Gabriel said, still teasing him. “Distracted?”

Sam chuckled. “Distracted?” And he was starting to have a Pavlovian response to that word. He took Gabriel’s head in his hands, and the archangel allowed him to guide his mouth to Sam’s, a hairsbreadth away from touching. “I think I like distracted,” Sam admitted.

Gabriel crashed their lips together in answer. He pushed Sam down onto his back, climbing onto his torso, not letting him up to breath for a moment. Fingers pressed into his shoulders, certainly bruising him, but in a good way. Sam wanted this. Wanted to make sure he’d have the memory of this in the morning.

After all, even if they _did_ survive this, it might be his last chance. Might as well make it last.


	22. Father Knows Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Destiel pre-slash angst, followed by the big event du jour: Gabriel trying to contact God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll notice that I updated the chapter count to 28. That's because what I HAD expected to be this chapter turned into 6k+ words all on its own, and I decided to split it into two. As of right now, everything else seems to be on track to wrap up in 5 more chapters and an Epilogue, but we'll see if I don't get unexpectedly prolific again. ;)
> 
> As you might have seen on tumblr, I'm going to be updating on (Trickster) Tuesdays from now on, so you'll see my next chapter up on June 14.

 

It was early, far too early for humans to be awake, but Dean couldn’t sleep. He heard the door creek open, and watched as Cas came into his room. The clock beside his bed said 3:30 AM: just a few hours before Gabriel and the other angels would risk their lives to talk to the douchiest deity Dean knew of.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said, trying to keep his voice light.

“Dean, I thought you would be asleep,” the angel told him. “I wasn’t expecting you to be awake.”

Dean stared at the angel, or where he knew the angel was in the darkness, knowing that Cas would be able to see the mock judgment in his eyes. “So you were coming in here to watch me sleep?”

“Something like that,” the angel admitted, all too seriously for Dean’s tastes.

Dean sat up, worried, and shifted over on the bed. “What’s up, Cas?”

The angel took his unspoken invitation and sat down beside him. “Gabriel’s opening the gate to the Void today,” he explained unnecessarily. “I’m -”

He paused, thinking, and Dean took the opportunity to interrupt. “You’re not going to help are you? You’re not giving him your grace.”

“I had planned to stand with my brothers, Dean,” Cas told him. “This is bigger than me.”

“Bigger than you my ass,” Dean said, angrily. “How many of them are there? Dozens? Hundreds?”

“Over three hundred have stayed, yes,” Cas told him seriously. “I think most, if not all, will help.”

“Good. More than enough,” Dean told him. “You can hold back, Cas.”

Castiel leaned against him, shoulder to shoulder on the bed, but was ominously quiet.

“For me?” Dean asked at last.

“For you, Dean,” Cas agreed. “I’ll try.”

 

…

 

Dawn. It was supposed to be a hopeful time, according to human poets at least. Today, it filled Gabriel with dread.

He thought about it, as he sat up in Sam’s bed, watching the naked Winchester breathe beside him. Sam was at his most peaceful now: sleeping deeply, exhausted by sex, with an archangel there to chase away any sign of stress or bad dreams that might usually haunt his nights. Gabriel reached out a hand to stroke the long hair splaying out on his pillow behind him, then softly pet his head itself, using a touch of his grace to ensure that Sam wouldn’t wake up until later in the morning, and that he would sleep well the entire time.

He wondered if the younger Winchester felt better these days, having an archangel taking so much interest in him.

And interested he was, he mused, looking down at the toned, naked body, which held such a quick mind and bright spirit. He could get used to having Sam around, given half a chance.

But that was a thought for another day. One where he wasn’t facing the whole of the Heavenly Host, and his Father to boot. Today, he had a job to do.

Maybe he’d even survive it.

He bent down to kiss Sam’s head and whisper a good-bye, confident that the hunter would never hear it ( _and let’s just leave that little bit of angst at the door, thank you very much,_ he told himself), before flying to the field where he had left the angels.

He kept himself hidden for a few moments, flying above them in a Pagan mask, seen only as a crow, and taking stock of the land. Yesterday, five hundred and twenty-six angels had found their way to the field. Five hundred and twenty six - a mere four hundred and fifty, not counting the seventy-five who had died and come back from the Void - were all that survived of the thousands of angels his Father had created.

They were a dying species, Gabriel realized. He wondered if they would ever learn to reproduce on their own, or if they would eventually die out, without God there to replenish the ranks.

Today, three hundred and eighty-eight angels were still gathered there, including every one of Gabriel’s Wing.

Huh. He hadn’t thought so many would trust him. Maybe he would be able to pull this thing off after all.

And if not, at least there would be some left out of danger. Or, _this_ danger, at least.

He slipped out of his crow form and landed smoothly beside Castiel and Anael, who were talking to some of the other angels, the ones with broken and battered wings from when they had survived the fall.

“Cassie, Anna,” he said as way of greeting. “Hope you’ve had a good time holding down the fort without me. Is Samandriel here, or is he still working on the Tablet?”

At the sound of his name, Samandriel flew in, hurriedly, as though he had heard Gabriel’s question and suddenly remembered he had somewhere to be. He might have, at that. “I’m here. How did it go, yesterday, with the others?”

“It’s been…interesting,” Castiel told him. “I think, however, that most of our brothers and sisters are convinced of this cause.

“It would have been a lot easier if you were here,” Anael chimed in. Then she added: “To look like an actual leader.”

“We’ve been over this, Annie,” Gabriel told her. Then, before she could draw out the conversation he added, “And besides, we have another job to do! I’ve been preparing for it all night.”

Anael sniffed pointedly. “Is that what you call it?”

And that was just _low_. Gabriel had most certainly cleaned up after the night’s exercises. She was just guessing.

But he smirked at her all the same and gave a shrug, because she was also right. “Didn’t know if it was going to be my last night on Earth. Again. Though I deserved one last treat.”

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue. “They’re all waiting for you,” she told Gabriel instead, looking out over the crowd of angels. “We didn’t know exactly what you’d be doing, so we told them you’d explain it when you got here.”

Gabriel nodded. That sounded reasonable enough.

“Now would be nice,” she pointed out flatly.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “If you insist.”

He had another thought, though - one last thing to take care of, first. He glared at Cas for a moment, though he knew it didn’t have any heat to it. He used the other angel’s full name deliberately: “Castiel - you’re here to guard us. Not to help. You can’t afford it.”

He waited until Castiel nodded, slowly, not breaking his gaze. Then he nodded back and turned out to the crowd, only to see that he already had their undivided attention. Damn angels heard every word exchanged, of course, no matter that they spoke in low tones meant only for each other’s ears. Gabriel took a breath, and channeled his best good archangel/soldier persona, hoping that would be enough to win them over.

“Brothers, Sisters,” he addressed them. “Nice to see you all. I know you don’t have a lot of information, but that’s because we’re pretty low on facts ourselves.” At least he would let them make their own completely informed decisions. “I told you, I’m going to be doing some pretty advanced magic. Last time I did this, I was in the Void - the angelic afterlife we were told didn’t exist - and it wasn’t exactly easy going. I used the magic of the dragon Ammut to create a gate to this world.

“It wasn’t enough then - or, I didn’t have enough grace to sustain it. My brother Raphael, who opted to stay behind, lent me his grace at the last moment, just as I was letting the last angels through. If he hadn’t, I would have died, and my grace would have dissolved into the gate. I don’t know what would have happened if any of the angels I took with me were still between at that point.”

He paused, letting that settle in - for his angels more than anything. None of them had known at the time what kind of danger they had been in.

“I still have the dragon magic. I plan to use it to open that same gate, though this time I’ll have my Horn to make it a little easier. Our dear old Dad is in the Void - I’ve seen Him there - and I intend to speak with Him if I can.”

He paused again, took a breath, and looked out at the angels. To his surprise, they were all watching him with rapt attention. None seemed ready to turn away from him. If anything, they seemed more interested. “It’s dangerous, like I said. If you lend me your grace for this, we’re all going to be tied together, at least for the duration of the gate. It’s going to be hard for me to sort out so many different graces at once, which may be distracting and which _will_ make it even riskier. If I survive it, we’ll all survive, but if not - we may all perish together.

“I told you yesterday that this is our best chance. Our best chance to defeat Abaddon, to fix the mess Metatron has made of Heaven, and even to hopefully restore your wings. It’s not our only chance, and it’s not even a sure thing, but it’s the surest one we could come up with.”

He spread his arms out in a wide shrug. “That’s all I’ve got. If you still want to give this a try, I’m starting now. If not, this would be a good time to hit the road.”

He started out at them, and none moved. Not a single angel turned their back, or took flight, or even looked to their neighbor for reassurance.

“The Heavenly Host is behind you, Archangel Gabriel,” Samandriel told him, in that odd, preternatural way he sometimes had.

Gabriel turned to look at Anael, who nodded, and then Castiel, who told him, “We’re not what we once were, but what we are is at your disposal.”

“Not the best turn of phrase,” Gabriel said under his breath. A sardonic front was the only defense he had against showing the angels how deeply their faith moved him. Even if he didn’t want to lead them, he was touched to still have their trust, even now, after abandoning them for so many long centuries.

He looked out at the angels again, all of whom were nodding or smiling at him, some clasping each others’ hands in silent support. He nodded back once and said, “Alright. Let’s do this thing.”

He sat his vessel down in the grass, suddenly very aware of the difference between this human skin and his true form. It felt too small, too tight for all of him, so he unfurled his wings and stretched as he took his Horn from its hidden pocket.

And then he began to play. He had been thinking of this song for a long time - well before they had actually decided to open the gate and talk to dear old Pops. Since he had come back from the Void, probably, these notes had followed them. And now he set them free: starting soft with this fast rift like _that_ , and then adding this syncopation just _there,_ then a crescendo _there_. It was all there in front of him, the song he had to weave, sure and comfortable as any instinct. His grace knew the way of it, and he let the gold-white power lead him into it.

As he fell into the quick, insistent rhythm of the music, he started drawing in the dragon magic. Slowly, cautiously he prodded the magic into building the frame of the gate. The Void seemed to be calling to the magic still, because it was easy to find the place, and easier still to lay down an anchor for the other side of the gate. He used only his own grace for the moment to bring the gate to life, give it energy and form.

And then, surprisingly fast, it was open, and he was looking through to the Void. He didn’t know if the other angels could see or feel it, or if they reacted to it at all. He couldn’t sense anything but the powerful magic right before him.

“Dad!” He shouted out with his human voice, almost before he could stop himself. “Father, we need you!” His voice cracked with emotion he didn’t remember he possessed. How long had it been since he had last saw his Father? Since he they had last had the assurance of his presence, and his wisdom? “Father, please!”

The response was overwhelming.

The greatness of God rushed toward the gate, overpowering all other senses. There were no words that could describe God, he just _was_ , and Gabriel experienced him as a Fact, pervasive and eternal, which need not be explained. Gabriel should have been burned and blinded, for his Father radiated heat and light like no other bring in the universe - but all that heat and light was really Love, more familiar and comforting than Gabriel had imagined in all his years on Earth, morning his broken family.

 ** _“Gabriel.”_** God’s voice in his head was soft and somewhat stifled, filtered before it could be processed by even an archangel’s ears. ** _“You should not have called me.”_**

“We didn’t have much choice,” Gabriel told him. He had never stood down to his Father’s admonishments before, and he could hear the find chuckle in God’s thoughts for it now. “Metatron has used the knowledge you gave him to close Heaven to the angels and take their wings. The last Knight of Hell is looking to take over Heaven. And I’m not even helpful, because I decided to fuse a dragon scale to my grace, which is apparently about as good an idea as attaching lasers to sharks.”

Which he had tried once. In another life. It had been….messy.

 ** _“Do you think I didn’t know what happens there?”_** God asked.

“I hoped maybe you could help with at least one of those problems,” Gabriel told him.

 ** _“Your magic seems to be working fine now,”_** God pointed out.

“It does that sometimes, until it stops,” Gabriel said. He could feel his own grace and pagan powers wearing thin as he held the gate open.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had hoped to do this all on his own - to not have to put his younger siblings in any danger as he opened the gate to the Void. He knew it was impossible, but he had hoped.

Now, he reached back to the other angels, asking silently for their strength.

To his surprise, he heard Kellaneal begin to sing, a bright counter-melody to his Horn. The Enochian words were familiar: a prayer revering God, giving him their love and faith. She used it to channel the others’ grace to him as a single clear stream, instead of a muddled flow of different personalities to organize and direct.

 ** _“You took this power, Gabriel. You must figure it out yourself,”_** God told him when he focused on the deity again. **_“You’ve done it before, my son.”_**

“Don’t I get a hint?” Gabriel asked.

A dry chuckle echoed in his head. **_“Only that it’s within your power.”_**

 _Well, that’s something_ , Gabriel thought. Then he asked: “What about the angel’s wings, or Abaddon?”

 ** _“You have everything you need to solve those problems, Gabriel, though you can’t do it on your own,”_** God told him. **_“I wouldn’t want to spoil the adventure.”_**

“Yeah, some adventure,” Gabriel muttered. Had his Father always been this opaque?

 ** _“I will tell you this,”_** God said. Gabriel felt a swell of hope, thinking he might actually get some useful information out of this, until he heard his Father’s words. **_“You’re the last archangel on Earth, for now, at least. You’re also one of only a handful of angels who figured out what life is about. You must teach the other angels. You must remind them of their true purpose: to protect and guide the humans of this world.”_**

Kellaneal’s voice rose with conviction behind him, but Gabriel felt it as the angels began to fade, their grace running dry already. Even numbering in the hundreds, together they didn’t have a fraction of an archangel’s grace, and it was clear they would not be enough.

He felt it like a knife in his heart when Castiel joined them, giving what little grace he had left. Gabriel tried to reach out to his brother, somehow stop him, but even he didn’t have the power or skill for that.

God continued, **_“You must never seek Me out again. When you are ready, I will return.”_**

Without warning, the gate closed, and Gabriel was flung onto his back, his arms crashing against the ground, and his face hitting a rock hard enough that it would have probably knocked a human out. His wings fluttered through the ground before he could stabilize himself enough to pull them back into himself. _Gee, thanks, Pops,_ he thought sarcastically, not really caring if the deity was listening or not. He rather thought his Father liked him more for his cheek, anyway.

 ** _“And Gabriel,”_** the voice was fainter, but unmistakable in his head. **_“Remember that some of those humans need you, as much as you need them.”_** The image of Sam’s face flashed in his mind’s eye, but Gabriel couldn’t be sure if it was him or his Father who had put it there.

He shook his head, marveling at his Father’s nerve, but didn’t respond this time.

Kellaneal continued singing for a moment longer, but only as long as it took the other angels to draw their graces back into themselves. Then, all was silent in the field. Not even birdsong broke the silence.

“Did you see our Father?” Anael asked eventually. “Did he tell you anything?”

“Didn’t you see him?” Gabriel asked, sure that everyone in the clearing would have been able to see His light through the gate.

Anael shook her head. “We didn’t see anything,” she confirmed. “Just a portal, with a black center.”

Gabriel looked at Samandriel, who’s face was an inscrutable mask; Kalleneal, who had taken a place beside him and who looked as bewildered as Anael, and then the other angels, who looked confused and shaken.

He took a deep breath and addressed them. “Thank you, for your help. I was successful, in a way. I saw our Father, and spoke to him.”

The crowd of angels grew restless, shifty, but kept their attention on him. “He was about as forthcoming as ever - which is to say: not at all.” He raised his voice, trying to sound triumphant at the little he did learn. “He _did_ tell me that we have what we need fix our problems. Defeating Abaddon is not beyond our means, even in our current state. Your wings are not lost, even without God to restore them himself. We can prevail.”

 _Dad only knows if we will or not, though. Or how,_ he added silently. The angels didn’t need that kind of thinking right now, but it was consuming him.

He turned back toward Anael and Castiel, his apparent lieutenants, who should actually be leading right now, in his opinion. “I’m tapped out,” he admitted. “Could you two…?”

“We’ll take care of the angels,” Castiel told him. Gabriel noticed that his younger brother looked drawn, gaunt - and his borrowed grace even dimmer than before.

“Many of the angels will want to stay,” Anael said before he could say anything. “They’ll want to fight Abaddon and her demons, when it comes to that.”

“Expand the barn. They can stay there.” Gabriel told her. “Alfie -”

“I need to study the Tablet,” Samandriel told them, carefully looking down and avoiding eye contact. Gabriel would _definitely_ have to corner him. Later, though. He really was exhausted right now.

“Fine. That’s good. I’ll be at the bunker. We’ll catch up tomorrow, with the Winchesters, after I’ve gotten some rest.”

They nodded, and then he was off, flying back toward the bunker. Sam was in the kitchen with Dean, so that’s where he went.

 


	23. Little Wonders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised for #TricksterTuesday: A little brotherly fun, a little Sabriel, and a bit of Destiel!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title, of course, comes from Rob Thomas's 'Little Wonders.' ;)

Sam was alone when he woke up that morning, but that was exactly what he had expected. Especially since it was - he looked at the clock.

_Whoa._ It was just after eleven - far later than he had slept in in _years_ , even when he was sick or injured. It must have had to do with an archangel sleeping next to him - or maybe just the stress of the situation, though that didn’t usually push him toward sloth.

He decided to skip his usual morning workout, given how late he had slept, and opted for a quick shower before heading downstairs to find what he supposed would be lunch. His hair, he was happy to find, was a rather lighter shade of purple after two more shampoos, but it was still _purple._ He wondered if one of the other angels could do something about that; Samandriel, maybe, since he was always hanging around the bunker.

When he saw Dean in the kitchen eating his own lunch, he almost turned tail and decided to go to a drive-through or something, but his brother saw him and raised his Coke bottle before Sam could scurry away. “Looking good, Rapunzel,” Dean told him.

Sam glared. “Jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean teased, before taking a bite of his sandwich.

Dean had left the cold cuts, rolls and other fixings out, so Sam grabbed a plate and started to make a sandwich of his own. “You know you’re going to pay for this, right?” he said conversationally.

Dean looked up at him, smiling around a giant bite. “Bring it on, Samantha.”

Sam turned around and raised an eyebrow at Dean. Because really? How much did he need to taunt him?

“What can I say? You just look so pretty with those long, princess locks,” Dean teased.

“You get to pay double for that,” Sam warned him, sitting down across from his brother. But he smiled as he took a bite of his own lunch. “Where’s Cas?”

“With the other angels,” Dean said, his face shutting down and his eyes falling to the half-eaten sandwich on his plate.

“Even with his grace…?” Sam let his question trail off, not sure what to say.

“Yeah,” Dean told him with a little shrug. “He couldn’t stay away, said it was his duty.”

Sam nodded. He knew exactly how much Dean cared for the angel - probably knew better than Dean himself did, knowing his brother - but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what to say to console him. Eventually, he offered: “Gabriel knows at least as much as we do. He won’t let him stretch himself too thin.”

That was, if Cas gave Gabriel any choice. Sam did not point out how stubborn the angel was, though.

“Yeah, I’m counting on it,” Dean agreed. He looked up at Sam. “What’s going on with you and the Trickster, Sammy? You’ve been spending a lot of time with him.”

Sam opened his mouth to say ‘Nothing,’ but they both knew that was bullshit. And it would be better for all of them if he and Dean didn’t lie to each other anymore. “Nothing important,” he said instead. Which also wasn’t exactly honest, but it was a lie he was telling himself, too.

It was Dean’s turn to raise his eyebrow. Sam took a bite of his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully.

“We’re - ah, we’re sleeping together,” Sam told him eventually. “But that’s it. It’s casual. There’s nothing else going on.”

Dean looked at him for a moment more, shrugged, and took another bite of his sandwich.

Sam stared for a moment, nonplussed by his brother’s reaction. “Really? That’s it?” he asked.

Dean put down his sandwich and leaned back in his chair, shoulders open, his body language wide and relaxed. “Listen, what you do - it’s your own business. Don’t get me wrong - I _don’t_ want to hear about it, but I’m not going to tell you not to or anything.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, still suspicious. “Seriously?” he asked.

“Hey, I might not understand it - and I really don’t understand it,” Dean told him, shaking his head in bewilderment. “But he’s done us a solid. More than one. And he seems to be serious about being on our side, so…” He picked up his sandwich again with a shrug, and took a comically big bite.

Sam smiled at his big brother. “Thanks, Dean,” he said, leaning down to take a bite. At the last minute he looked up and said, “Don’t think that’s gonna make that payback any less sweet.”

Dean chuckled at him: a good, happy sound that Sam had forgotten he had missed. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Sammy-boy.”

Sam ate in silence for a moment, thinking about everything that had changed between them in the last few months since Sam had faced the Trials. He was about to open his mouth and say - _something -_ but the sudden sound of wings stopped him.

“Gabriel,” Dean said, before Sam could look behind him and see who had flown in. “We were just talking about you.”

“All good things, I’m sure,” Gabriel said casually. Sam could hear the exhaustion in his voice though, and when the archangel walked into view and sat at the table, he looked tired and just a bit defeated. Still, he had enough energy to snap a candy bar into existence, unwrap it, and begin to eat.

To Sam’s utter amusement, Dean gave him the same look he used to give him when Sam was being a selfish kid. “You wanna share?”

The look on Gabriel’s face was priceless. Apparently, no one had called the angel out on sharing in quite a while, because he was clearly shocked.

Of course, Dean decided to push his luck. He grinned. “Actually, some pie would be nice.”

Gabriel’s right eyebrow raised, and Sam was honestly sure that the Trickster was about to smite his brother right then and there. But then he started laughing, a great grin crossing his face. “You know what, Dean-o? You must have balls of steel. You deserve it.”

He snapped, and a selection of three pies - apple, pecan, and chocolate cream - were suddenly crowding the small kitchen table, serving knives and plates beside them.

“You’re gonna make him fat,” Sam teased.

_“Us_ fat,” Gabriel corrected him. “Unless you want to leave them all for him.”

Sam looked over at his brother, who was already digging into the apple, which Sam knew was his favorite.

Sam shook his head. “Fine, _us_ fat,” he agreed. He cut himself a healthy piece of chocolate cream pie, because if he was going to indulge, he was going to make it count. And before Gabriel could make an all-too-predictable comment about the kind of exercises that would keep the two of them lean, he asked, “How did it go? Did you talk to God?”

“Course I did,” Gabriel told them, cutting himself a piece from all three pies before settling back to eat. “The question is: Did he have anything to say back?”

“Well did he?” Dean prodded.

Gabriel shook his head. “Nothing interesting, at least,” he told him. “He showed up, which is something, but all he told me was that we had everything we needed to get ourselves out of this mess, and he didn’t want to ruin the narrative or something.”

Sam frowned. Not that he was really surprised.

“From your dad? Sounds about right,” Dean said, echoing his own thoughts.

“What are we going to do now?” Sam asked.

“We’re going to eat our pie, and take a break,” Gabriel told him. “And I am going to take a nap. Anna and Cassie are taking care of the angels, and they’ll meet us here tomorrow. I’ll go over it with all of you then.”

Sam could see the flash of worry in Dean’s eyes and the sudden stillness of his fork when he heard Castiel’s name. He also knew Dean had already reached his chick flick quota for the day, and that he wasn’t going to say what was on his mind.

So Sam did it for him: “Cas, is he ok?”

Gabriel shrugged noncommittally. “As ok as we can expect,” he said. “He’s holding on.”

Sam nodded silently, and Dean looked down. Gabriel looked between the two of them, and put his fork down, pushing his somehow-almost-empty-already plate away from himself. “And on that note, I need a rest. You know where to find me.”

He winked, then popped out of existence with the rushing sound of wings.

He would be in Sam’s bed, of course. Later, Sam might go looking for him. If he needed a distraction. But right now, he needed to be a good little brother, which meant sticking around and distracting Dean for a while - and then putting together the kind of prank that would make any big brother’s life difficult.

“You, ah, want to grab a couple of beers? Watch a movie or something?” Sam asked, standing up.

“Sure,” Dean said, distractedly.

“Hey,” Sam said, getting his brother’s attention. “It’s gonna be ok. We’ll fix this.”

“Yeah, Sammy, I know,” Dean said morosely.

“Wanna say that again? Like you mean it this time?”

Dean looked up, more surprised than anything, but Sam held his gaze when he made eye contact. “Yeah, we’re going to figure this out,” he said, with a bit more conviction. “Cas’ll be fine. I’m sure we’ll see him back here tonight.”

“I’m sure we will,” Sam told him. He grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge, then led the way to the lounge.

 

…

 

Sam found his room early that night - he had every reason to want to be there, after all. Even if this thing was just casual between them, it was a lot of fun. Possibly the best relationship he had had since Jess, Amelia included. It was certainly the first time he knew both he and his partner were being completely themselves.

He had given Gabriel a few hours to recover, of course. He had watched _Kingsman_ with Dean, correctly guessing that it would be right up his brother’s ally, and a good distraction to boot. And then he had taken his supplies and gone down to the garage.

Dean would figure that part out tomorrow, he was sure.

And then he took a nice, hot shower, stretching out and relaxing all his muscles in anticipation of tonight’s activities.

Even after all that, Gabriel was still on his bed, not really sleeping of course, but definitely doing something very like it. Meditating? Dozing?

He wondered if the angel was at all cognizant of his surroundings in this state, or if he just trusted Sam that much. Sam decided to test it.

He toed off his socks, then unbuttoned his shirt, making sure his pecks and then abs were in full view of the angel, if he was aware.

He shrugged it off, then started playing with the button of his jeans. He wondered how long it would take for Gabriel to realize he hadn’t put anything under them after his shower. He fingered the button for a few moments before popping it. He let his fingers hover over the zipper…

Then ridiculousness of it washed over him in a moment of pure humiliation. He could feel a warm blush rush down from his cheeks all the way down his chest.

“I swear, if you stop now, I’m going to tie you down to the bed and do it myself.” Gabriel’s voice was deathly quiet, although the angel hadn’t otherwise moved at all.

“Is that a promise?” Sam asked, though it came out much more meek than flirtatious.

Gabriel came to life. He laughed at him and reached out, grabbing his hand. “Come here, before you strain something.”

Sam pouted, but let himself be pulled bodily onto the short angel in his bed.

“We have to work on your flirtation, Samsquatch,” Gabriel said in his ear, before biting down on it.

“Don’t know,” Sam told him cheekily, biting back a gasp of sudden pleasure. “Seems like I’m getting exactly what I want.”

Gabriel pulled back and smiled at him. “Well, played, Winchester,” he said.

Sam took the chance to look Gabriel over. Not that he thought he would be able to see it if anything was wrong with the Trickster. “You sure you’re up for this?” he asked.

“Oh, absolutely,” Gabriel told him, mouth parting in a hungry grin, and with a twinkle in his eye. “I am more than up for it. Actually, I’ve been thinking of this all evening.”

Sam smiled, and did not admit that he had been, too. Gabriel probably knew.

 

…

 

Dean couldn’t get to sleep that night. Cas was alive - Gabriel had told him that much - but he wasn’t doing well. And Dean was sure he had added his stolen, dying grace to the mix of the other angels.

He had prayed to him, of course. Hours ago, after he and Sam had finished their movie and split up for the night, he had asked Cas to come back, but he hadn’t heard anything from him. He had also texted, and stopped just short of calling. Anna was with him, and if things were that bad, surely she would know to bring him here.

So he paced his room. He tried to read, but that was a futile effort from the start. He did push-ups and sit ups until he was sore, and then just laid on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. He thought about drinking something stronger than his earlier beer, but this wasn’t something he could just drown in bourbon. If Cas came back, he wanted to be awake, and alert enough to make sure he was alright.

Who knew how long Cas had left? Dean wasn’t about to lose any time to alcohol.

So when the door opened just after 2 am, Dean was pacing again, dead sober, wearing only a loose-fitting pair of soft pajama bottoms.

Dean looked him up and down. Only the small light on the nightstand was on by that point, but even in that dim light, Dean hated what he saw.  Cas’s trench coat hung loosely from his shoulders, as though it was suddenly far too big for him. He was pale - paler than Dean had ever seen him, even at his worst - and his face looked thin, gaunt. The skin around his eyes was yellow and hung in loose bags. Even his hair was limp, sticking to his forehead and ears.

“Dean,” Cas started.

“Don’t tell me you thought I’d be asleep. You’ve used that line already this week,” Dean told him, referencing the night before.

Cas smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes, I think I have.”

“You look like Hell, Cas,” Dean told him bluntly. “What happened out there?”

Cas took off his trench coat, folded it over a chair, and sat down on the edge of Dean’s bed. Dean sat beside him, one leg up and bent under him so he could face the angel.

“I tried to do as you asked,” Castiel said at last. “I - at first, when Gabriel gathered the angels, I was there for moral support, as an honor guard, but I was not adding my grace to the others’. Gabriel all but ordered it.”

“Damn straight he did,” Dean said, grateful that at least one angel apparently had their head on straight, because his clearly did not.

Cas dropped his head to the side. “He did not anticipate how much help he would actually need,” Cas said slowly. “He - the other angels were not enough, and I saw that they were failing. I couldn’t watch and _not_ try.” He looked up into Dean’s eyes, fierce conviction still strong in his weakened face. “I gave them what I could. You would do the same for Sam.”

“Hey, I wasn’t arguing,” Dean soothed, though he had to bite back his initial snappy reaction first. “What happened then?”

“I -” Cas’s voice broke. “I saw our Father. I heard him. I think I was the only one except for Gabriel.”

Dean stayed quiet and simply watched as Cas gathered his thoughts. He knew the angel well enough to know when he needed space to process.

“He told Gabriel not to seek him out again,” Castiel said eventually. “Then - I think He must have noticed me. I was -” he looked down again, and Dean reached out to put a hand on his knee, silently urging him on. He knew he didn’t want to hear what the angel said next, but he also knew he couldn’t escape it.

Cas took a breath, his jaw trembling in an uncomfortably human manner. “I was burning out. I was almost gone. God - our Father - he revived me.”

“How much?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know,” Cas told him morosely. “I think I have enough time to fix this, or fail knowing we tried.”

“We are _not_ going to fail,” Dean told him, his conviction matching Cas’s earlier emotion. He could feel tears in his eyes, and he blinked them back.

“Dean -”

“We will not fail,” Dean repeated through clenched teeth, his voice hoarse. He _would not_ lose Cas. Not again.

Cas opened his mouth to respond - to be _reasonable._ To tell Dean that they didn’t know what the future would bring, or that they needed to be braced for the worst, or _something -_

Dean couldn’t stand to hear it. Something broke in him, and he pressed forward, sweeping the angel up in a desperate, bruising kiss. Cas didn’t protest, so he brought his hands up to his shoulders and pressed Cas down onto the pillows. He followed quickly, holding himself up on his arms over the angel.

“I. Will. Not. Lose. You,” Dean told him, urgently, commandingly, as he hovered. “You hear me, Cas? I can’t.”

Cas smiled wanly, but Dean could could see tears threatening in his eyes, too. “I hear you, Dean,” Cas said, reaching his hand up to put on Dean’s left shoulder, almost reverently. He fit his hand to the old scar there - the handprint he had left when he had raised Dean from Perdition. “I’ll do my best.”

Then he reached up with his other hand and pulled Dean down onto him. This time when they kissed, Cas took control of it, inexpertly but eagerly pressing his tongue into Dean’s mouth, seemingly as desperate as Dean was. Dean adjusted the angle of his head, showing the angel just how well they fit together. He unbuttoned Cas’s shirt, trying not to press too much, but desperate, now that they had come this far. Now when it might be too late to wait, to slowly savor everything they could be.

_Too late_ , a voice said in the back of his head. Dean tried to push it away, but he couldn’t.

Instead, he dropped his head to Cas’s bare chest, leaning his forehead against the angel’s sternum, where he could hide his tears.

“I love you Cas, you know that right?” he said softly, knowing the angel would hear. “I don’t want to be here without you.”

“I know, Dean. I - I love you too,” the angel said carefully, his fingers still tracing the handprint scar. “I think I have since we first met, when I put you back together.”

Dean let his head fall to the left, pressing his ear against Cas’s diminished frame, listening to his heartbeat. Castiel sighed and reached over to turn off the bedside light, then pulled a blanket over both of them.

“We’ll fix this thing,” he said again, not sure who he was trying to convince at that point. “I promise you, we will.”

“I know,” Cas murmured, carding his fingers through Dean’s hair.

Dean stayed there a long time, tears streaming down his face but definitely _not crying,_ as Castiel hugged him close to his chest and ran his fingers through Dean’s hair.

 “Sleep, Dean,” the angel said later - though whether it had been hours or minutes, Dean didn’t know. “I’ll still be here in the morning. I promise.”


	24. The Car Prank

When Dean and Cas arrived together to the war room the next morning, Cas looking more worn and tired than ever, but his hand tightly grasped within Dean’s, Sam didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. He had been expecting this for _years._

Besides, hadn’t Gabriel flown him here from his own room this morning, too? Who was he to talk?

Apparently, Gabriel had no such compunctions. “Baby bro! It’s about time!”

“Time for what, Gabriel? I’m certain Dean and I are not late,” Castiel assured him. Sam wasn’t sure if he was being obtuse on purpose or not, but from Dean’s suppressed smile, he bet yes.

“About time you got your man!” Gabriel shot back.

The rest of those gathered - Garth, Samandreal and Anael, besides Sam - watched in rapt attention as Castiel spluttered. “I - I don’t think this is the correct time to discuss this, Gabriel,” he said, before looking at Dean, who was slowly pulling his arm back from Cas. Cas caught him in a tight grip, and didn’t let him go. “Not that we don’t want you to know that we are - ” Cas quickly amended before trailing off, looking for the correct word.

“Together?” Dean supplied sheepishly.

Cas smiled brilliantly, and suddenly Sam felt like he was intruding on something rather private. “Yes, together. But now is not the time.”

“Sure it is, Cassie-boy,” Gabe said, pushing his luck.

Sam cleared his throat, getting Gabriel’s attention. “Maybe after you update us on what happened yesterday?” he suggested as Dean and Cas sat down. “Since we’re all here.”

“Spoilsport,” Gabe pouted.

Sam caught Cas’s grateful look, and smiled back.

“We do need this information,” Anna reminded Gabriel dryly. Everything about her demeanor told Sam that she was getting fed up with Gabriel’s shtick, but was trying very hard not to be insubordinate enough to say anything too harsh in front of the hunters and other angels.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Gabriel said dismissively. “We can talk about dear old Dad.”

“Please,” Garth piped up. “Any info you’ve got is gonna help us in the end.”

“What’s to tell?” Gabriel asked. “I talked to Dad, which is something at least, but it wasn’t exactly helpful. All he did was give me a pep talk.”

“A pep talk?” Dean asked incredulously.

“Yeah, a pep talk,” Gabriel repeated, glaring at Dean across the table. “He told me we have everything we need to figure out all our problems, and then pretty much told me never to call again. He was very specific about not wanting to ruin the adventure for us.”

“Well that’s good, right?” Garth asked. “We’ve got this!”

“I mean, if you wanna think of it like that, go ahead. But that’s not really how Daddy dearest works,” Gabriel shrugged. “Just because it’s possible doesn’t mean it’s going to happen, or even that it’s probable. That pesky free will thing’s always getting in the way of big to-dos like that.”

“Now who’s the spoilsport?” Garth asked laconically, as though he had no idea that he was dealing with the demigod of just desserts, and an archangel to boot. “I think someone needs to learn to look on the bright side of things.”

Gabriel gave Sam a look which very clearly asked, _Is this guy for real?_

Sam shrugged, because he sometimes honestly did not know.

“Yeah, I’ll put it on the list, Sparky,” Gabriel said flippantly. “Right after learning the power of love, and how to -”

“How about a plan?” Anael interrupted. She didn’t actually append the word ‘children’ to the end of her sentence, but Sam imagined she wanted to. “Are we any closer to one of those?”

“Not a bit,” Gabriel said airily. “Not unless Alfie has new info on the Angel Tablet, at least.”

“Actually,” Samandriel said, rubbing at those awful scars on his forehead. “I do have something. Though I’m not sure if it’ll help with a plan.”

“What is it?” Sam asked, leaning forward in his chair.

“I’m not sure if I’m translating it correctly,” Samandriel warned, “but I believe -”

“Just spit it out, sunshine,” Gabriel said, a hint of his old, less patient Trickster persona flaring up.

“Angels can be targeted as a Host,” Samandriel said, a bit cowed. “And I think we’ll be particularly vulnerable if that targeting comes from Heaven itself. Or maybe the Throne Room. That wasn’t particularly clear. It seems Heaven has changed quite a bit since the Tablets were written.”

“So Abaddon…” Sam started.

“Cannot make it to Heaven,” Samandriel confirmed. “If she does, we’re as good as dead. All of us.”

“So how do we stop her?” Dean asked. “Can’t we just put more angels up to guard Heaven using your back door, Gabe?”

“Maybe a few, but not enough to stop her,” Gabriel said. “Angels need wings to get there, and we only have a handful of those, compared to the demons.”

“And some of those of us with wings should be on Earth scouting,” Anael added. “I’ll have a dozen of our best on the lookout for concentrated demonic activity.”

“I’ll warn the griffins,” Gabriel said, his face going uncharacteristically serious and his voice thoughtful. “We’ll keep a few others here - Samandriel, Remiel…whoever else wants to stay Earthside. Maybe a dozen. I’ll have Remiel show the rest the way into Heaven.”

“What about the hunters?” Garth asked.

“What about them?” Dean asked.

“What can we do, now that we’re figuring out a new network?”

“What do we always do?” Dean countered. “Hunt. And if we find out we have hunters in a position to gank a demon, we’ll let them know where and when.”

“Yeah, we can do that,” Garth agreed. “Cool beans.”

Gabriel raised his eye at the awkward hunter, but Sam was glad when he didn’t say anything disparaging.

“Well then, is that all?” Sam asked, hoping to end their little conference quick. “Anything else that can help?”

The room was quiet for a moment.

“Looks like that’s all she wrote,” Gabriel said. “Wanna give the angels their assignments, Anna?”

“Of course,” Anael said, obviously expecting the request. She was gone with a flutter of wings.

“I have work to do, as well,” Samandriel said.

“You’re one of the ones with wings, right?” Garth asked.

Samandriel nodded.

“Hate to ask, but do you mind giving me a quick ride over to a hunting lodge near Sioux Falls to get some notes on some old hunters? We’ve been trying to find it for weeks.”

Sam almost chocked on his breath. Garth was impertinent, really, but asking a strange angel to be a _taxi_? He started to intervene, “Garth, I don’t know if you understand, but angels -”

“It’s fine,” Samandriel interrupted. “I need to stretch my wings a bit anyway before I get back to my studying. I can help.”

“Thanks, buddy!” Garth said. Samandriel took his arm with an indulgent grin, and then they, too, were gone.

“And then it was four,” Gabriel said, looking around the table with an impish grin.

“Two, actually,” Dean said, before the archangel could bring up their new relationship status change. “Cas and I are going to be in the garage for the afternoon.”

“Have fun with that,” Sam said nonchalantly, before Gabriel could stop them. When the Trickster shot him a glare, he just smiled back at him, and waited for Dean and Cas to rush out the door.

“What was that about, Sammich?” Gabriel asked. “I wanted all the juicy details about whatever happened between them. I planned to experiment on how red I can make your brother’s face.”

“Later,” Sam told him. “Right now, it’s my turn to torture Dean. Let’s go to the garage, but don’t let them know we’re there just yet.”

 

…

 

Dean grabbed Castiel’s hand again as soon as they were in the hall and out of view. It had been a heady feeling, waking up cuddled to the angel this morning, and it was even headier now, realizing that he could do this whenever he wanted. That Cas was there, and his, and the angel loved him just as much as he loved the angel.

After a good night’s sleep, the worst of their troubles seemed more distant: manageable. Part of it, he knew, was just that the human mind can only hold so much  despair before it becomes numb to it. But the other part was the sure knowledge that God thought they could prevail. It was possible. That was a lot better than he could say about a hell of a lot of things the Winchesters had done in the past.

“Together? Is that how you would like us to describe our relationship?” Cas asked when they were out of earshot.

Dean looked over at him. Despite his pale cheeks and the bags under his eyes, Castiel’s eyes were still bright and hopeful, and a devastatingly beautiful shade of blue. “Honestly, I don’t care,” Dean told him. “You were the one who seemed uncomfortable in there. We can say whatever you want.”

Cas smiled widely, then pulled their clasped hands up so he could kiss Dean’s hand while they walked.

Dean couldn’t help smiling back, looking more than a little goofy, he was sure. “We can leave it vague if you want,” he said, “but I was kind of thinking - boyfriends?”

Cas paused in the middle of the hall and pulled Dean close to him for a quick, hot kiss. “I’d like that very much, Dean,” he said quietly.

Dean leaned in to kiss Cas again, just because he could, before dragging him back down the hall by the hand still held tightly in his own. “C’mon,” he said, a little awkwardly and completely smitten. “I want to check out the motor on that old LeSalle in the garage. I think it might still be in good shape.”

Cas smiled back at him. “I’m glad you can indulge your hobby here, Dean. I’d be happy to learn what you can teach me.”

Dean beamed.

When they got to the garage, something seemed - well, _off_ was the best way to put it. Dean couldn’t really put his finger on it. When he looked at Cas, the angel seemed completely unperturbed, so he tried to brush it off.

He grabbed the rolling tool kit he had left by the door and pulled it over to the mint green convertible - a 1940 model, he would guess, or thereabouts. He hadn’t had time to really check it out yet, but it was a beauty: high hubcaps over cream-lined tires, a long distinguished motor with polished chrome embellishments. She could be a show piece, especially since - he leaned in through the open driver’s window to check - she only had 450 miles on her. Someone in the Men of Letters must have had quite a love for beautiful cars.

Dean sighed contentedly as he ran his hand over her fender. He blushed a bit, chagrined, when he saw Cas’s indulgent smile aimed at him.

“Awww, aren’t they sweet?” Dean heard above him.

He raised his hand to flip Gabriel the bird without looking, moving around to the hood of the LeSalle.

“Which couple? Dean and Cas or Dean and the car?” his brother’s voice asked.

Dean ignored them both and opened the hood.

 _“Ohhhh, yessss! Harder!”_ a female voice moaned before he slammed the hood down in surprise. He lifted it again experimentally, and: _“Yeah, there, there, right there!”_

Porn. Sammy had rigged the cars to play porn when he worked on them.

“What was that?” Cas asked, coming up beside Dean.

Snickers came from the catwalk above the garage.

“Sammy!” Dean wasn’t really angry - or, he was, but only because these cars were so damn awesome, and Sam’s prank was cheap. “I thought we had rules!”

“You didn’t say anything about the other cars,” Sam told him, the smirk clear in his voice.

“How many?”

“You’ll have to try them all to find out,” Sam laughed down.

“You know, Dean-o, I bet we could get quite the symphony going if we open them all at once. Wanna try?” Gabriel chimed in.

“Nobody asked you, featherbrain,” Dean called back, reasonably sure that taunting the archangel was not a poor a life choice at the moment. Or, at least, not as poor as it had once been.

Dean walked over to the next car over - the Jaguar - and lifted that hood, too.

_“Oh, baby, yeah! Just like that!”_

He dropped the hood, less carefully than he should have, but he was too perturbed to be gentle.

Another woman’s voice called out from the other side of the garage, this one squeaky and annoying. _“Yeah, yeah, oh, yeah, oh, yeahhhhh!”_

Dean turned to see Cas holding open the hood of the old Model-T. The incessant moaning went on for another moment before Cas dropped the hood.

Then _Cas_ dropped, crumpling to the ground in a heap.

Dean ran to him before he knew what he was doing, kneeling beside him. “Cas!” The angel was limp when he tried to shake him, so he turned him onto his back, looking for signs of life. The angel’s face was pale and slack and his eyes were closed, the life drained out of him.“Cas, you gotta -” Dean’s voice broke.

“He’s alright,” Gabriel said. The archangel and Sam were suddenly beside him. Sam’s hand was on his shoulder, while Gabriel was reaching out to Cas.

“Don’t fucking touch him,” Dean snapped automatically, not sure what the Trickster was up to. He knew he should trust Gabriel, but right now, all he could think about was _Cas._

“Hey, it’s alright,” Gabriel said, putting his hands up as though he was talking to a frightened animal. “I think I can help.”

Dean looked back down at Cas, then up at Gabriel. He nodded after a moment, and felt Sam squeeze his shoulder supportively.

Gabriel reached out again and placed his fingers between Castiel’s eyes. Cas’s face twitched, then he blinked his eyes open. They immediately caught Dean’s own.

“Dean,” the angel said, almost relieved, before looking around. “Sam. Gabriel. What happened?”

“You tell us. You passed out, buddy,” Dean told him.

“I - I don’t remember. I was holding the hood up and that strange woman’s - awkward - voice was coming out of it, and then I couldn’t anymore. I was suddenly so tired - I felt almost human,” Castiel told them. He turned toward Gabriel. “What happened? What did you do?”

“I gave you a bit of Grace, Cassie-boy. Just enough to jump-start yours, maybe help hold it together a bit longer,” Gabriel told him. He winked. “Think of it like a return on investment from what you gave me yesterday.”

Dean looked at Gabriel. “Could you -”

“No can do, Dean-o. What I did right there? It’s dangerous; Cassie’s not an archangel, and I have no clue when it comes to angel triage. If calling on dear old Dad was playing with fire, this is playing with gunpowder.”

“So when you said you could help -” Dean started.

“I said I _thought_ I could help. I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Dean,” Cas interrupted before they could start arguing. “I think I would like to go back to your room and lie down.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, let me help you.”

 

…

 

Sam watched as Dean helped Cas up and out of the garage, then looked to Gabriel. “Maybe we should -” he gestured at the cars.

“Clean up for big bro?” Gabriel suggested.

“This can’t be a very happy memory for him,” Sam pointed out. “I’d just as soon not have to live with him if he has to uninstall them all.”

Gabriel shrugged. “You only used the ones I gave you?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, running his hands through his still-fucking-purple hair.

The archangel snapped, and a dozen small speakers appeared in a bag on the floor. “I want to keep these for later, though,” the Trickster told him. “When things get better, we’re gonna want to get strategic with them. Maybe something to do with pie.”

Sam wanted to laugh, but the most he could manage was a slight smile. “You still think things’ll get better?”

“I think we either believe they will, or we give up now,” Gabriel told him.

Sam sighed. “Yeah, I guess so,” he agreed. His heart definitely wasn’t in it though.

It had been terrifying, standing up there on the catwalk, laughing at Dean’s annoyance, and seeing Cas suddenly collapse. Gabriel had flown them down to the floor before he could really process any of it, but all he could really think of was what it would mean if Cas had _died_. If Can had died while he was busy laughing at Dean.

“Hey,” Gabe said, putting a hand on Sam’s face to grab his attention. “Let’s get out of here. Find a desert island. Distract ourselves…”

Sam shook his head, pulling away from Gabe’s hand. “I want to be here if Dean or Cas need me,” he said.

“Lounge, then?” Gabriel asked.

“Sure,” Sam conceded. “But the only distraction I can handle right now is a movie,” he warned.

“Fine by me, Samarino,” Gabriel said, grabbing Sam’s arm.

“Let’s walk?” Sam suggested, needing to stretch his legs and walk off the shock of Cas’s fall.

Gabe kept his arm on Sam’s as they walked, the contact warm and familiar, like an old friend. And was that what Gabriel was to him? Not just another ally or sexual distraction, but a true friend? Sam warmed at the realization.

He steeled himself at the same time. Because once they had a moment to breathe, he wasn’t sure if that was something he got to keep. With the exception of Bobby and Cas, rarely did anyone but his brother stick around in Sam’s life, no matter how much he found himself wanting them to. And even they were there more because of Dean than Sam.

“What do you think will happen?” he asked as they walked down the overly-lit halls of the compound. “If we do fix this grace thing and get the angels back to heaven, I mean.”

Gabriel shrugged. “I guess we’ll decide that for ourselves.”

“Even the angels?” Sam asked skeptically, carefully deflecting the conversation from himself. He opened the stairwell door for Gabe, then followed him down the stairs.

“Even them,” Gabe agreed.

“What about you?” Sam asked.

“What about me?” Gabriel echoed.

“Aren’t they going to have you around to help them?”

 _‘Aren’t we going to have you around?’_   was what he really wanted to ask. Instead, he followed Gabriel into the next set of halls, toward the lounge the archangel had made.

Gabriel shrugged.

“What do you want, Gabriel?” Sam asked, knowing he was skating on thin ice with the Trickster.

Gabriel sighed uncharacteristically. “What I’ve always wanted,” he admitted at length. “I want the fighting to stop. I want peace.”

“Then lead them. Give the angels someone to follow. That’s what Anna says they need.”

 _Stay,_ Sam thought privately.

“No, they don’t,” Gabriel said. “At least, they don’t need me. Angels aren’t going to follow a pagan god for long. You saw my aura in the Void, Sam; that’s how they see me all the time. Archangel or not, I’ll always be both.”

“Then where are you going to end up?” Sam asked.

Gabriel shrugged, and stayed quiet for the rest of the walked. When they entered the lounge, he finally responded in that quiet, sad voice Sam had begun to recognize as the Archangel Gabriel at his most contemplative. “Eventually, I think I’ll go home, stay with the griffins in Eden, recuperate. But I think I have things to do here first.” And then, in a flash, Gabriel’s demeanor changed. He smiled, bright and loud, and was suddenly a ball of energy. “And speaking of things to do, don’t you have half the Marvelverse to catch up on?” He grabbed a Blu-Ray from the rack and tossed it to Sam, then pointed up toward the projector. “And the giraffe can get us all set up, don’t you think, Samsquatch?”

If the gaiety felt a bit forced, Sam didn’t comment on it. Instead, he popped _The Winter Soldier_ out of its case and got to work.

And if he pulled Gabe in a little too close on the couch while they watched, arranging them so they were both lying down, Sam safely snuggled between the back of the couch and the back of the Trickster, Gabriel didn’t comment on it either. He even let himself be pulled in, too.


	25. The Next Battle?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as everyone starts to take in everything that's been happening at the bunker, the demons make another appearance.

Dean stayed with Cas for a long time as he rested. The angel laid on the bed, unmoving, and Dean sat next to him. Or paced on the floor beside him. Or laid beside him, close enough to feel the angel’s heat, though he didn’t touch him for fear of waking him.

How had he let down his guard like that? How had he let himself smile, as though everything was alright? As though Castiel wasn’t dying?

He was going to lose Cas.

He couldn’t lose Cas.

Dean was pacing again when Castiel finally stirred. The angel watching him for a second from the bed before saying, “Dean, I’m fine. Just tired. Come here.”

“You’re not fine,” Dean replied automatically, still standing.

“I’m fine right now,” Cas assured him. When he realized Dean wasn’t going to join him on the bed, he pushed up to a sitting position in one smooth and strong movement, as though he had not collapsed just two hours earlier.

“Isn’t that what you thought when you were in the garage?” Dean snapped, not knowing why he was picking a fight, but knowing he needed to.

“Dean,” Cas said, the word imploring and calming and _loving_ all in one, and Dean could not fucking take it. He just couldn’t.

“You’re alright?” Dean asked. He looked at the angel, and he wanted to reach out to him, to touch him and kiss him, but he couldn’t. Not when everything was so close to the edge, and Dean just had to _get away_ from it all. Just for a minute. Before he exploded. “You’re not going to collapse again?”

“Whatever Gabriel did, I think it’s strengthened me,” Cas told him with a nod. “At least temporarily.”

“Good,” Dean said, the word sharp and clipped even to his ears. “I need a drive.”

“Would you like company?” Cas asked.

Dean shook his head once. “Nah, I just need to clear my head.” He leaned down and kissed Cas on the lips, forcing himself not to run away right there. “I’ll be back in an hour or two. I just need to think.”

“Certainly, Dean,” Cas told him. “I think our brothers are watching movies in the lounge. I’ll see if they’d like some company.”

Cas gave him a measuring look, pondering the circumstance he was volunteering for. “I think I may just ask Gabriel to conjure me my own chair,” he said seriously.

Dean couldn’t help himself. Castiel was just - there was no other word for it but cute. He laughed and bent down for another kiss.

“Have fun,” he said, a bit roughly, trying to hide the emotion in his voice. He stood and pivoted, then stalked out of the room. This was too much. He needed to be anywhere but _here_.

 

…

 

Sam and Gabriel were still cuddling in the darkened lounge when Castiel found his way there. In fact, Sam was so engrossed in the espionage/superhero movie, that he didn’t even notice the third occupant of the room enter.

“Heya, bro,” Gabriel called as he walked in, pausing the movie and alerting Sam to the other angel’s presence. “Where’s your Winchester?”

He put the emphasis on _your_ in a way that would have made Sam think twice about the archangel’s opinion of their relationship, if he didn’t know that Gabriel in a good mood was bombastic and playful by default, and only really sincere when he couldn’t get away with the first two.

“He went for a drive,” Castiel said, pointedly looking around for a place to sit.

Sam moved to get up and give him room on the couch, but Gabriel wouldn’t budge. Instead, he snapped up a somewhat smaller couch for Castiel to sit on.

Sam glared at the back of the angel’s head, but held his tongue. Of course Gabriel wouldn’t want to give up his comfy position.

“Uh, did he say where he was going?” Sam asked as Cas settled into the new couch. He wasn’t struggling against Gabriel anymore, but he was a bit embarrassed to be caught cuddling so close with Castiel right there.

At least it wasn’t Dean, he conceded silently.

“No, he did not,” Cas told them. “He said he’d be back in an hour or two, and that he needed to drive.”

“Typical Dean,” Sam said, though he knew Cas knew this just as well as he did. “He can’t process emotions like a normal human being.”

“Winchester trait?” Gabriel asked, a hard note below the tease.

“Guess so,” Sam agreed, pushing at the archangel again. Gabriel acted as though he didn’t even notice.

“I thought I would join the two of you in the meantime,” Castiel said, looking directly at Gabriel. “I think - my grace feels strong now, but even so, it would be wise to stay near you.”

“Not a bad thought,” Gabriel mused. “Maybe you’ll pick up on a thing or two while you’re here.” The archangel leaned into Sam suggestively, and Sam couldn’t see it, but he thought Gabriel might have winked.

“I’m not sure I need to pin Dean down to keep him in one place,” Castiel said dryly, much to Sam’s surprise and chagrin.

“Coulda fooled me,” Gabriel teased.

“Ever see a Captain America movie, Cas?” Sam asked quickly, desperate to change the subject.

Cas opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, the sound of flapping wings heralded the arrival of another angel.

“Gabriel,” Ana said urgently, as soon as she appeared in the middle of the lounge, in front of the huge screen. Though she was the image of calm perfection - red hair smooth and soft around her face, her clothes perfectly fitted and cleaned, even her boots shining - her expression was harried and tense. Castiel straightened up when he saw her, and even Gabriel sat up, allowing Sam to sit as well.

“What’s shakin’?” Gabriel asked, his casual tone at odds with the sudden tension in his spine.

She didn’t even spare a moment to frown at him before quickly explaining, “Barchael. She was doing patrols, looking for demonic activity. She’s found a nest of it - at least two dozen demons have attacked a religious retreat.”

“Can they do that?” Sam asked.

“It looks like one possessed a nun to defile the land, letting the others in. They’re taking religious leaders as prisoners. We need help stopping them.” She pursed her lips, then went on in a more scared tone than before. “Aside from Abaddon, these are more powerful demons than we’ve seen on earth since Alistair and Lilith. Possibly, Crowley was this powerful at his height, but not anymore.”

“Then let’s go,” Sam said, moving to stand up.

Gabe put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. “Whoa there cowboy, if the angels can’t handle this, what makes you think you can?”

Sam leveled a glare at him that he hoped clearly translated to ‘ _Are you fucking kidding me right now?’_

“I can help,” Sam told him.

“You can also get yourself a whole lotta dead,” Gabriel shot back.

 _Oh._ Gabriel was afraid of him getting hurt.

Nice as the sentiment was, Sam had to pull the breaks on that particular train of thought down real quick. “This is my job. This is what I do. I can take care of myself,” he reminded Gabriel. “And if you don’t bring me, I’ll figure out another way to get there.”

“I’ve found,” Castiel said carefully, “that leaving a Winchester behind will usually cause more trouble than bringing him along. In my experience.”

“We don’t really have time to argue the point,” Anael pointed out. “Are you going to help or not?”

“Yes,” all three of them answered at once.

Gabriel looked at Cas in askance.

“I’m no good here,” Castiel shrugged. “And I would rather not be alone right now. Just in case.”

Gabriel gave a very human, very put-upon sigh. “Fine, yes, lead the way.”

Gabriel grabbed Sam’s arm and Ana grabbed Cas, then the four of them were gone, leaving a quiet lounge behind. The paused image of Steve Rodger’s back, looking over a platform at the brainwashed Bucky lit up the room, casting it in ominous blue light.

 

…

 

The first thing Sam noticed after the uncharacteristically dizzying flight with the archangel was Gabriel shoving things in his hands.

Weapon things, actually. Right, because he would need those for a fight. Flask of holy water, Ruby’s knife in a leg sheath and - oh, wow. That was definitely an angel blade Gabriel was hastily pushing into his hands. Also, shoes? Suddenly he was wearing boots, because Gabriel thought of everything?

“Here ya go kiddo. You’re gonna need them,” the archangel said.

“Thanks,” Sam said, strapping the knife to his leg and putting the flask in a pocket. The angel blade he kept ready.

He looked around, taking in their surroundings.

They were, just outside of a large white manor house, a wide stone stair leading up to it from a meticulously kept lawn. A sign next to the door said said _Golden Spring_ _Retreat, St. James Catholic Church_ , with a large cross beside it. It looked…serene.

“They’re inside, in the main dining area,” Anael told them. “First floor, to the right.”

“Anything else we should know?” Sam asked as Gabriel reached for the front door.

“You know what I do.” Ana shook her head. “Demons, higher rank than we usually see, in larger numbers than we can handle without and archangel.”

Sam nodded, then followed Gabriel into the house, Cas and Ana behind him.

It was chaos inside. A long hall greeted them, with several doors on each side. Three demons had made their way into it from the dining area, carrying two struggling nuns to the back of the house. A large cage had been erected in what looked like a great room at the end of the hall, with several prisoners already inside.

As soon as they noticed the angels enter, one of the three demons detached himself from the other two, letting each of them take a nun so he was free to confront the newcomers.

“Time to play?” The demon asked, stalking toward the angels, a clearly insane look in his eyes. He lunged for Anael, who put out her hand to smite him.

He giggled when she made contact, staggering backwards a bit, but otherwise unaffected. His eyes glowed yellow briefly, like Azazel’s had. “Tickles. Pretty angel lady. Do it again”

Anael grabbed her blade from the air, but the demon suddenly lunged toward Gabriel. “Nu-uh, pretty angel,” he cooed. “Beleth wants to play with the shiny one.”

“Yeah, well, the shiny one isn’t so into you, Beli,” Gabe said, pushing out at the demon to smite him. This time, when he made contact, the demon screamed and tumbled backwards, but Sam could see Gabriel stumble back a bit as well. He frowned, worried that the archangel’s magic would backfire the way it had before he had gone up against Abaddon.

The demon recovered quickly, all trace of playful insanity disappearing from its face as it straightened up. It seemed to gain height as well as presence of mind, taking up most of the hall as it glowered down at them.

When it grabbed for Gabriel again, Sam was ready for it. He lashed at it with the angel blade, trying to surprise it and stab its torso, but it was too fast. It realized what he was doing and fended him off, resulting in only a scratch on its arm.

The results were impressive nonetheless. The thing screamed, an ear-curdling noise of many discordant notes over several octaves all at once. Black lightening peeled out of the cut on its arm, arcing toward Sam and coiling around his wrist.

He dropped the sword before he even felt the pain, but then Gabriel was between them, picking up the sword and fighting the thing off.

 _Oh._ That had been _Gabriel’s_ sword.

A moment later, he was too preoccupied with his arm to think of anything else. The pain was intense, but almost paled against what was happening to him. The burn itself was bad enough, but several nasty-looking black tendrils were making their way up his arm, spreading like a sickness.

Poison. Black, demonic poison. So like the demon blood he had been fed as an infant. Sam already felt himself being pulled into despair over it, could feel it interacting with his blood, seeking out all of his many weaknesses…

Cas knelt down beside him, taking his arm in his hands and inspecting it.

“Don’t,” Sam warned the angel against healing him. He wasn’t worth it, not with everything he had done, drinking demon blood, killing Lillith - he was back in those times. No, back in the Cage, with Lucifer there, ready to toy with him. He plead: “Gabe -”

“Here,” Ana angel said, crouching next to Castiel. “Let me.”

Cool Grace poured through him, giving him strength and fighting back the blackness in his arm. Sam closed his eyes, willing the grace to help - hoping the blackness was something that could be cured, but feeling himself falling still.

It took much longer than it should have - seconds passed and Sam heard Gabriel fighting the insane demon on his own, with all of his backup preoccupied by Sam’s single injury. Sam tried to protest - to tell them to go help Gabe instead, but he couldn’t get out the words.

More screams poured over him as Gabriel scored hits on the demon, but he heard Gabriel grunting and hissing I pain just as much. And the dark agony in his arm kept throbbing, fighting to grow again.

Another hand gripped his wrist, and the stronger, more _flavorful_ grace he had come to recognize as Gabriel’s poured into the wound, targeting the poison at its source. It burned out the darkness, then cooled and healed the arm itself. Sam could feel his head clearing as the demon’s influence seeped out of it.

“Told you it was dangerous, Samsquatch,” Gabriel said softly, rubbing his hand over Sam’s wrist. “Want me to get you out of here?”

Sam shook his head. “I’m alright. We need to get to that cage.” He looked out and counted at least nine hostages trapped in it.

“I’m on it,” Anael said before disappearing across the hall with a flap of wings.

“Did you kill him?” Sam asked.

Gabriel shook his head. “No, but he’ll be out of commission for a while,” the archangel assured him darkly.

A low, ominous tone rang through the house, rather like a gong being rung. Suddenly, black smoke filled the house as the demons left their hosts in unison.

There was no time to react - by the time Sam realized what was happening, they were gone, leaving angels, prisoners and the poor humans they had possessed behind.

 

…

 

Thank - well, thank _whoever_ that Sam had not tampered with the Impala. Dean had hopped in, zoomed out of the garage, and burned rubber out on the open road.

It felt good, to have his favorite Stones mix on and the windows rolled down, nowhere to go and no one to answer for but himself. It was rare, these days.

That is, until _Paint it Black_ came on. He jabbed at the tape deck angrily until it spit out the cassette, which he tossed into the back seat.

He put another mix on at random, but tossed that one four songs later at the first few bars of _Don’t Fear the Reaper_. Led Zeppelin was out, given that the first tape he drew started with _In My Time Of Dying_.

“Fuck,” he said, hitting the steering wheel, but deciding to keep the stereo off, for the time being at least.

So he drove in silence, losing himself to the feel of the road and the wind, grounding himself.

Cas would be alright. He had to be. There was no other choice.

Gabriel would help them. God had said they had everything they needed to fix this. The _would_ work this out.

Not that he was doing much to help, out here on his own.

The realization hit him all at once. He shouldn’t be here, running from everything. He needed to get back to the bunker. He needed to get that lazy archangel and his good-for-nothing brother and Samandriel and the rest _off their goddamn asses_ and into gear, working to fix this thing.

He slammed on the breaks, letting the Impala skid around 180 degrees on the empty road. He needed to get back. He needed to be there _now._

Except there was a red-headed woman in black leather pants and a matching jacket suddenly in front of him on the road. She stalked up to the Impala and put a hand on the window frame of the driver’s door. Dean didn’t even have time to grab a weapon - not that he had anything in the front seat that would help him right now.

“Hello, Righteous Man,” Abaddon said, her voice silky smooth and seductive. “I have plans for you.”


	26. Army of Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The real Battle for Heaven begins, and the Winchesters are swept up in it.

The retreat house was suddenly silent. There were a few panting nuns and moaning victims of the demon’s possession, but it was eerily quiet compared the cacophony of the battle against the demons.

“Can someone,” Sam asked slowly, still kneeling on the floor where he had fallen in pain, “please heal all the humans?”

He watched, in a bit of shock himself, as several angels started making their way around the humans, healing them one by one. Sam counted at least twenty angels, some of whom he recognized: Balthazar and Remiel among them.

“You alright there, Sam-a-lam?” Gabriel asked, using one hand to tilt Sam’s head up and catch his eyes.

“Fine,” Sam told him. “I’m fine. I’m just - what just happened?”

“It appears that the demons retreated,” Castiel said superfluously.

“Yeah, I got that,” Sam said. “But why.”

“Because this wasn’t their actual target,” Balthazar said, coming into the room from the dining area where he had been in the midst of the fight. “They’re planning something else.”

“Any idea what that may be?” Gabriel asked, sliding his hand down from Sam’s face, but keeping a more subtle grip on his arm.

Balthazar leaned against the door frame, his custom suit laying perfectly against his chest, as though he had not just been in the midst of a battle. “None at all,” he said simply. He started looking at his fingernails, as if for effect.

“Alright, let’s get these people somewhere safe,” Sam said. “Any chance we can find Dean?”

“Not with the sigils I put on his ribs,” Cas told them.

Gabriel huffed a laugh and Sam looked at him pointedly.

“Hey, you should be thanking me for putting my own runes on you two way back when,” he said defensively. He looked out into the distance, as if searching.

“Uh, Sammykins?” he said hesitantly.

Sam raised an eyebrow. _Sammykins?_ “What?”

“I can’t find him either,” Gabriel confessed slowly.

“What do you mean, you can’t find him?” Castiel asked sharply before Sam could reply.

“I -”

Suddenly, the angels, as a group, doubled down as if in pain. Gabriel’s hand tensed around Sam’s bicep, almost painfully. Castiel leaned heavily on Sam’s shoulder. Balthazar stumbled and grabbed the door frame for support, while Anael simply tensed up in front of the cage where she had been healing survivors, gasping.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked, looking between the angels, waiting for one of them to answer.

“Abaddon has breached Heaven.” Samandriel’s solemn voice answered him, though Sam hadn’t heard the angel fly into the retreat. When he looked up, the baby-faced angel was standing just behind Gabriel. “She’s used the blood of the Righteous Man, and she’s in the Throne Room.”

“Dean - ” Castiel breathed. “We need to -”

“I can get us there. I can summon _all_ the angels there, with or without wings,” Samandriel interrupted. He looked at Gabriel. “But I need your help.”

“What can I do?” the archangel asked.

“Play your horn,” Samandriel said. “Castiel, shield Sam’s eyes. NOW.”

Cas’s hand was over Sam’s face before he could react, his grip angel-strong.

“Anything in particular?” Gabriel asked, his hand coming off Sam’s arm.

“Anything. The song you used to summon us to the field,” Samandriel said quickly. Then he started to chant.  “ _Zoh-bah-leh-ta. Tah-ve-nik-tah. Zoh-hal-va_.”

He felt as much as heard when Gabriel began to play, adding beautiful, almost incomprehensible notes to the spell. Then something began to happen.

Even with his eyes closed and Cas’s hand in front of him, the room became almost blindingly bright. He felt a pressure on his skin, then all around him. He gripped Cas’s arm, needing the solid grounding of the angel, but it didn’t help. It felt as though there was a storm raging around him - as though his very being was ripped into pieces and put back together, only to be torn apart again. He would have screamed, but he couldn’t move.

It was over without warning. Cas’s hand was gone from his face - Cas was gone altogether, it seemed, because he lost his grip on the angel and fell backwards.

He recovered quickly. He had to. He was in - he didn’t know where he was. A library? Or a study? At least, that’s what the walls reminded him of.

Whatever it had been, it was twisted out of shape now, elongated almost beyond recognition, to allow a battle within it. Hundreds of angels, many with wings blazing,  were attacking even more demons: dark, twisted forms he could barely stand to look at. They seemed to wear overlays of human forms - out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Abaddon, but when he looked toward her, her skin was a shiny black, as if she were made of a semi-solid, craterous petroleum. Her eyes blazed fiery red, and her fingers reached out to attack like so many black knives.

And the angel she was attacking - at first, all Sam saw were equally fiery white _wings_. He was seeing wings; part of the angels’ true forms. He was seeing _Anna’s_ wings, he realized, when she pivoted toward him.

He could see all of them. Only a small percentage of the angels even had proper wings - most had broken, bare skeletons still - but he could see all that were there. Every set was white or silver-white.

**“What did you do?”** Gabriel’s voice was great and echoing, with all the strength and mystery of his thousands of years behind it. Sam could _feel_ them. And -

_Oh._ The archangel had six wings. Six beautiful, golden wings, crackling with strange green and midnight blue magic. They were so unlike any of the other angels’. Unlike anything Sam had ever seen or imagined. Dazed, he put his arm out to touch them.

Samandriel pushed his hand away gently before he could make contact. “I’m sorry,” the younger angel said, his voice small and apologetic. “He was caught up in the spell - he wasn’t supposed to come with us.”

“Gabriel!” Anna called out from where she was sparring with Abaddon.

**“KEEP HIM SAFE,”** Gabriel ordered Samandriel, in a tone that brooked no arguments. **“And Castiel.”**

“I will,” Samandriel promised.

He grabbed Sam’s arm, and Sam found himself suddenly in a secluded corner of the room, watching the battle from behind Samandriel’s wings - his a strange, beautiful silver that reflected rainbows of light. They were different from the others’ as well, but not nearly so different as Gabriel’s.

It was an incredible scene. Literally hundreds of angels fighting together - or at least hundred that he could see. He had a feeling that there were more who were not in vessels; those he imagined he could see out of the corners of his eyes but they were invisible head on. Above, dozens of griffins flew in to fight beside them, gold and red and brown feathers looking solid and real compared to the angels’ wings of grace and light, but no less beautiful for it.

The angels and griffins moved almost in unison against at least twice as many demons, possibly several thousand. Most were fighting 2- or 3- or even 4-to-one. They seemed to be winning against the black-eyed ones, but those fighting yellow-eyed demons were faring much worse. He winced as he watched one he didn’t know - an angel wearing a male vessel, with smaller, broken black wings - fall victim to the same black lightening he had faced at the retreat. This angel didn’t survive the attack.

Only one demon had red eyes, and she was fighting Gabriel.

“You shouldn’t watch,” Castiel said, his hand suddenly on Sam’s shoulder. Samandriel must have brought him back here, too.

“How am I?” Sam asked. “Why haven’t I…”

“Your eyes have not burnt out, and you have not died from the sound of our voices because you are in Heaven,” Samandriel explained, his voice soft and somewhat mopey. “Demons have taken it, and the very fabric is shifting. It’s still protecting you, though.”

Sam looked at him. “So it’s safe to look?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Sam turned away and looked at Cas.

Cas, who looked so much worse now. He was thinner, more gaunt than Sam remembered him being just _minutes_ ago. His wings weren’t broken and mottled like so many of his kind out there, but downright skeletal, only a handful of long, black bones drooping down from his back. “Cas -” he breathed, not sure what to say.

“I had not expected you to see me like this,” the angel confessed. “Though I suppose I’d prefer you to Dean.”

Sam shook his head, then reached a comforting hand out to lay on his friend’s shoulders, a point of peace in the midst of the battle, protected by distance and Samandriel’s wings.

 

…

 

Gabriel waited a breath until Samandriel had whisked Cas and Sam off to safety before swooping in and putting himself between Abaddon and Anael.

The demon was tough, unafraid to use the full extent of her strength, too quick to get a direct hit on, and almost unaffected by his blade when he slashed at her limbs. She cackled as she reached toward him, taunting him, using demonic powers to make dark lightening race up his blade, tingling uncomfortably against his grace.

He was tempted to use that grace - or, to use his pagan talents, or even the inscrutable power of the dragon to fight against her - but madness that way lied. He couldn’t be sure when (not if) it would backfire against him, and now was not the time for that. Now when Sam could see him, and when the younger Winchester could be hurt by and errant magic.

He was rusty at this kind of fighting, swords against demonic talons, but he managed to keep her at bay while Anael got her footing and started to press her offensive.

And then came the calvary.

Gabriel was suddenly flanked on either side by griffins: Shrike to his right, and Halliya to his left. A third, Kress, was circling above them, dive-bombing low-level demons before they could interfere.

“Good hunting?” Shrike asked as he flew in beside Gabriel.

“Could be better,” Gabriel admitted casually, tailoring his response to raise Abaddon’s ire. “I prefer my game a bit more tender, bit less hag-like.”

“We thought you could use a hand against the demon bitch,” Halliya said, swiping at the demon in question.

“What’s the matter, _archangel_?” Abaddon asked, spitting the last work like a curse. “You’re holding back. Scared to let go?” Her voice  rose in pitch as she cooed, “Little angel afraid of his own power?”

“Don’t need it against you,” Gabriel lied coolly.

“Oh?” Abaddon asked. “Or maybe it’s the human tagging along? Don’t want him to see what you can do? Don’t want him _afraid_ of you?”

“I think we all know Winchesters are too dumb to be scared of anything,” Gabriel tossed back, trying for all his might to sound unaffected. He pressed into her with small, quick swipes of his blade, trying to put her on the defensive.

It didn’t work. He saw as soon as she signaled to another demon, then gestured toward the corner where Sam was holed up with Samandriel and Castiel. The demon’s yellow eyes glowed bright with excitement before it turned toward the trio. Samandriel wasn’t going to be able to take it on, not even if Sam and Cas were in any shape to help him.

And that was _not_ happening. “Hold her,” he said to the griffins. Then he flew over to head off the demon before it could get to them.

He flew in front of it and pivoted around to go against it head on. As he did, he noticed an unmoving form across the throne room, lying prone near the entrance.

He slashed at the demon, catching its attention and forcing it to stumble backwards. It, too, had fashioned its fingers into long, dark talons, though they were nowhere near as formidable as Abaddon’s.

The thing hissed at him and struck back, swiping at Gabriel’s side.

Powerful though it was, it wasn’t nearly as fast as a Knight of Hell. Gabriel danced away from its claws easily, then used his own momentum to circle around and hit it with the flat of his blade, knocking it down on its backside.

He took the chance to call out to Sam and Castiel, pointing across the throne room.

It was a mistake. The demon wasn’t as dazed at he had thought, and it took the opportunity to rake its claws down Gabriel’s legs, tearing into him with dark poison.

 

... 

 

**“Sam! Cas! I found Dean!”**

Gabriel’s voice rang over the din, and Sam looked out to see the archangel pointing across the throne room.

He couldn’t see anything but angels and demons at war, but apparently Samandriel saw something he didn’t. The angel grabbed him and Cas, and suddenly they were across the room, near a large oak door, stretched wide enough that it could have probably let the entire angelic host through. On the floor -

What Sam saw on the floor was not good.

Dean, unconscious, bloodied and bruised. He had clearly put up a fight when the demons had somehow caught him; he had a black eye, scrapes and scratches all over his arms and torso, and a large, dark bruise flowering out from his chest. Broken ribs, Sam thought numbly.

Sam could see the damage, because Dean’s tee-shirt had been cut open from neck to waist. His abdomen was cut open, sluggishly leaking a pool of blood and - _other things_ Sam could definitely not process right now - on the floor.

“Dean!” Cas was the first to react, as Sam was frozen in shock. He knelt down, heedless of the blood and gore on the floor, and grabbed Dean’s face.

“Castiel, no,” Samandriel said, pushing the angel back before Cas could try to heal Dean.

“Samandriel -” Sam choked out, still not able to process what was in front of him. Dean was eviscerated. _Dead_ , or almost. “Dean needs - ”

“Sam, we’re in Heaven. We’re angels. And there are more than one of us willing to help,” Samandriel told him, looking pointedly at Castiel with the last sentence. He leaned down, spreading his wings to engulf the three of them as he touched Dean’s forehead.

Everything changed in a flash of silver-white light. _Grace_ , Sam realized. He was not only seeing the effects, but the actual work of Samandriel’s grace.

The blood was gone. As was the gash, the cuts, the bruising - Dean looked healthy. Whole.

He gasped a breath like a man deprived. Relieved and somewhat embarrassed, Sam looked away as Cas started pawing at his face, then his torso, making sure he was really alright. He turned to look out over the battle, but found Samandriel’s wings still blocking his way.

Instead, he studied the shape of them, the odd, slightly mercurial, glowing feathers that seemed to cover them.

“What took you guys so long?” Dean asked roughly, and Sam turned back to see his brother looking up at him. Castiel was holding one of Dean’s hands in both of his, but otherwise seemed at ease.

“We’ve been fighting,” Sam told him. “Demons. Looked like they were a distraction.”

“I shouldn’t have let you go off alone,” Cas added. “We knew they were out there, and we let our guard down.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, silently asking: _Like you could stop me?_

“What happened?” Sam asked.

“Long story, Sammy-boy,” Dean said, moving to get up. “Apparently, we’ve got work to do now. Anyone have an extra blade I can borrow?”

“Can you just take a break for a moment?” Sam asked, looking back and taking a breath when he saw that Samandriel was still calmly keeping guard. “You were just about dead less than a minute ago.”

“And I’m feeling fine now,” Dean argued.

Sam scowled at Dean.

His face relaxed into a confused frown when Castiel suddenly dropped Dean’s hand and dodged in front of Samandriel, angel blade out.

And then Sam saw it - Abaddon herself was charging at the three of them. And Castiel was putting himself between them and her.

 

…

 

 

Gabriel hissed in pain when he felt the claws rake through him, but he didn’t let himself be drawn into the pain. He was familiar with this - he had fought it before, in wars past, and he knew how to burn the poison out of his system. He just needed a moment to think straight.

He dashed toward the yellow-eyed demon recklessly, blade aiming for the chest and opposite hand for the thing’s head. He knew he shouldn’t use his grace, not now, not with everything backfiring, but if he had to smite the thing -

He was lucky. It didn’t expect him to recover so quickly, and didn’t dodge the blade in time. When Gabriel hit with his blade, it was square in the chest. The thing erupted in a cloud of black smoke and lightening, scorching Gabriel’s hand and turning his blade a dank grey, but at least it was gone.

He gathered Grace and pagan power close, about to heal himself. But then he saw it:

Abaddon, charging toward Samandriel, Sam, and Dean. Castiel rushing out and putting himself between her and the Winchesters.

_Oh, HELL no_.

Gabriel flapped his wings, rushing over with nothing even resembling a plan in mind. He just had to stop this. He needed to save his little brother, and protect his Winchester, and by Dad he would do it.

He reached out with the power he had already gathered and whatever else he could collect in an instant, and threw it between Castiel and Abaddon, making something of a shield of it. A shield that would maybe - probably? - hurt or even kill the Knight if she touched it.

Castiel, the idiot, was already attacking though. He rushed right into it, heedless of its power, or the fact that it would probably _burn him up on the spot_. Gabriel tried to pull it back but -

The world exploded. Green and white and midnight blue power streamed through him, through the throne room, through _everything._

Gabriel caught it, and held it. Used every ounce of will he possessed to make it do his bidding.

And then he released it back into the battlefield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go! And a mini-epilogue, but I'll post that next week, too.


	27. Everything Changes.

Sam watched, completely unable to do anything to help, as Castiel charged at Abaddon.

He would have prayed, if he had the chance. It was a suicide mission: Castiel saving Sam and Dean with the last of his failing grace. It was exactly what a Winchester would do.

And then Gabriel was there, between Castiel and Abaddon.

The next moment, Samandriel turned and pushed him down onto Dean before wrapping his wings tightly around both of them. _Something_ happened - Sam could feel it on his skin. The melodious sound of choirs rang through the air, a symphony of wind and power and things Sam had never before imagined. He could sense it in the light that made it through Samandriel’s feathers, but he couldn’t see any of it.  He knew he couldn’t possibly understand it if he could.

This wasn’t like Samandriel’s spell. He wasn’t in the middle of something theoretically controlled and predictable, which just happened to sweep him up. He, and every angel and demon here, were on the edge of something wild, and stronger than any magic known on Earth. Something that was changing them all in ways he didn’t have the capacity to know.

When the chaos of it all subsided, Sam felt it leave. It was as if it was draining out of him, leaving something peaceful and strong in its wake.

Samandriel waited a moment before pulling away, letting Sam push himself off of Dean and stand up again.

Everything was silent. The angels stood in shock, some with angel blades on the floor where they had dropped them. The griffins stood among them, feathers ruffling in surprise as they looked around.

The demons were gone. Every last one of them had disappeared - leaving Heaven itself, Sam thought, and not just the Throne room.

Gabriel alone stood where he, Castiel and Abaddon had converged. In front of him were two black masses. One, which still oozed red and black slime, was clearly what was left of the Knight of Hell. The other -

Dean rushed over to the other one as soon as he got his feet beneath him. “Cas! Castiel!”

Gabriel turned and made eye contact with Sam, who walked over to the archangel.

He could see him now, somehow even more than he could before. He saw the six golden wings, but he also saw clouds of deep green and bright gold all around him - an aura, like he had seen in the Void. The dark blue had faded to almost nothing, just wisps of periwinkle at the very edges. “What?” he asked, dazed.

Gabriel nodded to where Dean was, as if he was just as shocked.

Sam watched as the black mass coalesced into an angel.

Castiel stood up, pulling Dean up with him, their hands entwined. They were talking softly, saying things Sam couldn’t hear, and was sure he wouldn’t want to if he could.

Besides, he was transfixed on how Castiel had changed. Instead of the broken bones that had so feebly made up his wings, he now had _four_ huge, blue-black wings, all of which ended in golden tips, the same color as Gabriel’s. Dark blue and silver-white grace clouded around him, strong and so much brighter than the other angels’ silver and white.

“Time to get out of here, Samsquatch,” Gabriel murmured in his ear.

“What happened?” Sam asked. “Is Castiel better?”

“Cassie’ll be fine. I’ll tell you the rest later,” the archangel promised. “Anael?” he called.

“Yes?” the angel asked, suddenly beside them.

“You can organize the angels here?” Gabriel asked. “Get them started on clean-up or something? Distract them for a while.”

“Yes, but -”

“Good.” Gabriel looked back at Sam. “Now, I think you’ve had enough time in Heaven. Let’s get out of here.”

Before Sam could protest, Gabriel grabbed his arm and flew them away.

 

…

 

 

Of course Gabriel brought them back to the Bunker. To Sam’s room, even. To his bed, to be precise.

“Really?” Sam asked when he found himself suddenly horizontal and next to the now seemingly wingless and aura-free archangel.

“Hey, I need a break. So do you,” Gabriel told him, pushing Sam down and laying his head on his chest.

Knowing better than to get up just yet, Sam stretched himself out on the bed.

“So now are you going to tell me what happened?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Cassie has to hear it, too,” Gabriel told him, nuzzling Sam’s chest somewhat aggressively. “Your brother would probably like to be in the know. They’ll be here after their epic victory sex, I’m sure.”

“TMI, Gabriel,” Sam said dryly. “Can’t you at least tell me what’s going on with you?”

“I’m fine,” Gabriel told him. “My power is stable, and I think it will continue to be from now on. That enough for you?”

“I guess,” Sam said. “But how?”

Gabriel raised his head and gave Sam a glare. “Look, it’s been a long day for everyone. Will you just once let me cuddle you for ten fucking minutes, Winchester? I promise we can get back to the world of cause and effect once I recover from the epic magic I just channeled to _save all our asses_. Deal?”

He looked so disgruntled, and, God help Sam, _cute_ , that Sam couldn’t help himself. His mouth spread into a grin, and he started giggling at the archangel.

_Laughing in the face of an archangel. Smart one, Winchester,_ he thought to himself.

Fortunately, Gabriel did not seem to mind too much. He just _harrumphed_ before letting his head fall back to Sam’s chest. Sam was pretty sure he was pouting, which was even more adorable.

Sam started running his fingers up and down the archangel’s back in a silent apology. He found when he tried, he could almost feel the tension where Gabriel held his wings.

And when he looked out of the corner of his eye, he could see them again. Gold and beautiful, and almost completely transparent.

“You’re more likely to worm your way back into my good graces if you scratch, instead of just rubbing,” Gabriel told him insolently after a few minutes.

Sam laughed silently at the archangel, Gabriel’s head bobbing with the movement of Sam’s diaphragm, but be started to scratch. If this was what Gabriel needed right now, the least Sam could do was give it to him.

 

…

 

Sam didn’t expect it, but he somehow managed to fall asleep there with Gabriel lying on him. He _was_ completely wiped from not one but two major battles against demons, as well as a jaunt through heaven, so it probably shouldn’t have been that surprising.

Still, he was surprised to wake up several hours later, Gabriel splayed over his torso, and Dean and Castiel standing over his bed.

“Really, guys? This is how I get to wake up?” he whined.

“Up and at ’em, Sammy-boy,” Dean said, shit eating grin in place.

“Anael and Samandriel are waiting for us in the library. It seems we all need to talk,” Castiel added.

“Great, I’ll see you when you get back,” Gabriel said, turning over to lay on his back next to Sam.

“You, too, brother,” Castiel insisted.

Gabriel pouted, and Sam couldn’t resist a chuckle.  “We could just invite them in here,” he said, sitting up.

Suddenly, both angels in question were in Sam’s room, holding two chairs each - enough for them, Dean and Cas.

“You realize that was a joke, right?” Sam asked Castiel, raising an eyebrow. He shifted up so he could lean against the headboard.

“I don’t think I understand that joke, Sam,” Castiel said. But Sam could clearly see the twinkle in Cas’s eye, and the smirk he gave Gabriel.

Gabriel gave a put upon sigh as he sat up, too, then shimmied up next to Sam. He snapped, and a small lap-table suddenly appeared in front of him, a bowl full of chocolate covered strawberries (tops cut off) balanced on it.

Sam took one and popped it in his mouth without a thought - it was delicious, and if Gabriel didn’t want to share, he shouldn’t have put fruit in front of Sam.

“So, you gonna tell us what just happened up there?” Dean asked.

“Yes, if you would just have some patience,” Gabriel told him. He popped a strawberry into his own mouth and chewed thoughtfully, as if to spite Dean. Finally, he continued: “Though admittedly I don’t know as much as I’d like to.”

“Well what do you know?” Sam prodded.

“I think, and I’m not sure, that Cas and I forged some kind of bond between us,” Gabriel explained. “The last of Cas's borrowed grace was used up when he hit my barrier, but something else happened. His grace – the grace Metadouche used to close the Gates of Heaven – was triggered, wanted to get into the game but it was still caught up in the spell. There was an explosion, obviously, and backfired into me. Luckily for all of you, I’m awesome.”

Gabriel paused and looked around, as if for their agreement. Instead, they all stared at him questioningly. He rolled his eyes and continued. “I did my best to shape it. I separated Cassie’s grace from it all, but it was not in good shape, bro,” he looked over at Cas with that. “But the rest was powerful enough for me to make it something more angelic, a healing magic - the kind demons abhor. That’s what got Abaddon, bee-tee-dubs: she was hit full on with Holy magic. And then, when I let it loose again - I don’t know if it was because we were in Heaven, where grace is just kind of part of the environment, or if it was the Dragon or something else, but Cas took what was left of his grace and used it to forge a new grace of his own.” He looked at Castiel. “Anything to say for yourself there?”

“I don’t actually remember that,” Castiel admitted. “I touched Gabriel’s shield, and then I was waking up, with Dean beside me.”

“Whatever it was, Cas has something like normal Grace, but with a whole lot of dragon mixed up in it, now. So much, in fact, that I don’t have enough left to mess with my pagan power. So now he's somewhere between a Seraphim and an archangel, I guess.”

“So both of you have your mojo back?” Dean asked, looking for the simplest answer.

“I think so?” Gabriel asked. He did _something_ \- Sam could feel it on his skin - but with no visible effect. “I haven’t been able to really explore it yet, but it might be symbiotic. Cassie drains the dragon magic from me, and that sustains his grace. Or something?”

“So we’re stuck with you?” Dean asked snidely, though Sam thought he heard a glimmer of a joke in his voice.

“Not at all, Dean-o. I don’t think we need to be close to each other for it to work, just keep the line of communication open.”

“So no more hiding away?” Anna asked.

Gabriel shrugged. “Not from Cas.”

Anna gave him a stern look. “The angels need you to lead,” she said, not for the first time.

“They most certainly do not,” Gabriel told her. “They need a figurehead to come tell them they’re doing a good job every now and then, maybe, and remind them not to be dicks on the regular, but they don’t need me to lead.”

“So that’s what you want to be? A figurehead?” Anna asked.

“Noperooni,” Gabriel said. “But I figure I can’t get out of it anytime soon.” He popped another strawberry into his mouth.

“And who will bring them order?” Anna pried. “Who will they turn to for day-to-day commands?”

Gabriel stared at her. “Really? You haven’t figured it out yet?”

“Castiel -” Anna started.

“Is not leading anyone,” Cas finished for her.

“That’s one guess,” Gabe said, leaning against Sam and watching Anna eagerly. “Two more.”

“Gabriel,” she said warningly.

“Come on, you can do it,” Gabriel cajoled obnoxiously.

“I don’t know -”

“FINE,” the archangel heaved like a disappointed child. “You win. You get to lead them.”

Anna’s jaw dropped as she stared at Gabriel. “I -”

“You have the right experience. You have the vision. You’re the one who keeps telling me every little thing I should be doing. Do it yourself,” Gabriel said, counting out each quality on his fingers.

Anna looked at him for another moment, then said. “The angels will need to know you’re behind me. You’re still the last archangel.”

“I’ll let them know,” Gabriel agreed.

“And I’ll have to be able to count on you.”

“Within reason,” Gabriel told her. “I’m used to my freedom.”

Anna rolled her eyes.

“Take it or leave it, Red. That’s the best you’re gonna get from me.”

“I guess I’ll take it then,” Anna said, feathers almost visibly bristling.

“The Gates of Heaven,” Castiel interrupted, the hope flashing in his eyes even visible to Sam. “Are they still –”

Gabriel shook his head. “We flung those things wide open.”

“So, the angels –” Cas started, but Gabriel shook his head, heading them off.

“They still don’t have wings. We’re not gonna be able to get them all back home until they do.”

Cas nodded gravely, and they all fell into a kind of tense silence.

Anna was the first to break it. “I have work to do, I guess. You’ll help communicate the status changes to the others?”

“Later,” Gabriel told her, his tone going hard. “We’ll talk about it.”

Anna rolled her eyes, then disappeared.

“Um, Gabriel,” Samandriel spoke up before any of the rest of them could. Sam could see that he was looking rather nervous.

“What’s up, Alfie?” Gabriel asked.

“I - ah, I’m not sure I want to go back up to Heaven yet - not until I understand all this new information in my head,” Samandriel explained. “But where should I be?”

“Wherever you want, kid,” Gabriel told him gregariously. “Learn to have fun.”

“Stick around here,” Sam suggested impulsively. “We could use you.”

“Good. Settled. Anything else?” Gabriel asked

When Samandriel answered with silence, he smiled. “Good. Perfect. Time to get some sleep then.”

Sam was still exhausted, so he didn’t argue when the rest left the room, and Gabriel snapped the strawberries out of existence, turned out the lights and curled around him.

 

…

 

 

Dean followed Cas out of Sam’s room, threading his hand through the angel’s.

“So you’re really alright?” he asked, walking so close to him that their shoulders brushed.

“Better than I’ve ever been,” Castiel told him. “I have so much Grace now, and something else. It’s overwhelming, honestly, but it’s stable. Balanced.”

“You sure about that?”

“As sure as I can be, Dean,” Castiel told him.

Dean smiled and gripped Cas’s hand tighter. “Good,” he said.

“Very good,” Castiel agreed.

Then Dean found himself very swiftly pushed against the wall, Castiel’s free hand pushing him by the shoulder. “Excellent, actually,” the angel muttered before pressing his lips against Dean.

Dean let him take control of the kiss, let him explore as Dean trailed his fingers beneath his trench coat and over his shirt. Cas moved down to his neck, making Dean want to moan.

“Whoa, there,” Dean said instead, using one hand to guide Cas’s face away from his neck and back up to look at his eyes. “Maybe not the best place for this?”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel said. “I just -”

“Hey, I know,” Dean told him. And he did. He would like nothing more than to press Cas up against the wall right now - but he wasn’t about to do anything anywhere where his brother or the Trickster could accidentally find them out in the open.

“I love you, you know that?” Dean asked, holding the angel’s eyes.

“I know, Dean,” Castiel told him, just as seriously. “I love you, too”

Dean smiled again, bright and wide. “Good. Let’s take this party back to our room, then, yeah?”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas agreed. He caught Dean’s hand in his again and flew them the rest of the way, just because he could.

 

…

 

The next morning, Gabriel was of course gone from Sam’s bed. Sam had predicted it, and tried not to feel too disappointed. He knew Gabriel needed his freedom, and he wasn’t about to ask the Trickster to fight against his nature. Still, it stung. Sam had thought they were getting closer.

Gabriel didn’t stay away for long, though. He caught Sam at lunch.

“Hey,” Sam said, his smile strained.  He was growing too fond of the Trickster, he knew, but there was really no helping it, and having him here wasn’t gonna make things any easier.

“Any plans today?” Gabriel asked without preamble.

“Uh, no,” Sam shook his head. “Why?”

“Just finished up with Anna and the other angels. Thought we could do something fun.”

“You - ” Sam started. “Don’t you have anything else to do?”

“Not on today’s docket,” Gabriel told him. “Come on, what do you say? We can catch dawn on Hawaii if you like.”

Sam looked at the Trickster for a long moment. He wanted to go, of course, but he wasn’t about to put himself in a position where it was just fun and games for Gabriel, but something more for him.

“What are we doing here, Gabriel?” he asked at last.

“What do you mean, Samster?”

“I mean, are you sticking around like Dean said? Or are we just having some fun?”

“Was it not clear that I was just asking you out on a date?” Gabriel asked as if Sam were the dumbest person he had ever met.

“Apparently not,” Sam teased.

“Well, let me make _this_ clear, then,” Gabriel said. He reached up and pulled Sam down for a long, slow kiss. “I kinda like you. Let me take you to Hawaii to watch the damn sunrise?”

Sam smiled. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He leaned down to kiss the Trickster again.

“But Gabriel?” he added. “Next time, stay for the morning.”

 


	28. After Credits Scene

“Gabriel?”

Sam’s voice was soft in the dark, despite having his own room. Old habits died hard, and he had always had to be careful not to wake Dean in their life on the road.

There was no answer - no joke, no flippant remark, no angel pushing him to the bed and laying claim to his skin. Just silence.

It had just been a dream then. The archangel hadn’t been there, hadn’t told Sam he was sticking around, taken him halfway around the globe and then fucked him so long and thoroughly he couldn’t remember his own name anymore.

Sam shifted, trying to feel _something_ , but nothing came. There was no soreness. No aching muscles or tender, bitten skin. Nothing.

He sighed, rolled onto his back. Thought about jerking off - but no. There was no good that could come of that. Not when Gabriel was on the forefront of his mind.

He rolled back over, intent on getting some sleep.

“How’s a Trickster supposed to get any work done when you’re always being such a giant ball of angst?” a teasing voice asked in the dark.

Sam opened his eyes and turned on the light. When he could see, he looked up at the archangel, who was now standing beside his bed, popping M&M’s into his mouth. _Huh. Not a dream then._ “Thought you were gone,” Sam said sleepily.

Gabriel flung a red candy at him, hitting him squarely between the eyes. “I was. I had some just desserts to deliver, and I thought I’d take care of it while you were out like a light.”

“Oh,” Sam said, kinda dumbly.

The Trickster sighed. “Get it through your head, Winchester. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Ok, then,” Sam said shifting over to make room for the angel. “Come to bed?”

“Bossy,” Gabriel accused, though he peeled off his clothes and climbed in beside Sam.

“You like it,” Sam teased back, reaching to turn off the light.

Gabriel chuckled. “I like you.”

Sam hummed contentedly and ran his fingers over the archangel’s arms. In the near total darkness, he could just about see the golden outline of those perfect wings, shimmering and ethereal, but becoming more solid every time he tried to look for them. He should probably talk to Gabriel about that.

There was a lot he should probably talk to Gabriel about: Crowley was still in their dungeon, Metatron and Gadreel needed to be dealt with, and Sam thought maybe it was still his turn in the prank war, given how the last one had gone.

Not now, though. Right now, he was perfectly content gathering the archangel in his arms, and pinning him down so Sam could get some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for leaving the questions all out there at the end like that, but you have to know there's a sequel in the works. They only give us after-credit scenes when they're also planning to give us sequels. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank all of you so much for your encouragement and feedback! Follow my tumblr for updates, and don't forget to subscribe!
> 
> http://rosaleenban.tumblr.com/
> 
> If you're interested in related works, please subscribe to the series as well! I'm working on a prequel which is mostly about Gabriel and how he fled from heaven and became a Trickster, all within the mythology I've written into this fic (though there's a whole lot of Sabriel in it, too). I plan to start posting that this fall or winter. And I've outlined the sequel, which I want to start to post mid- to -late 2017, depending on how long the prequel is.
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts & critiques. Leave them in the comments and you'll make my day. :)


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